


Pieces of Dean

by Ahaviel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art by TheFriendlyPigeon, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Canon divergent from 12x09, DCBB, Dcbb 2017, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Internal Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Personality Switching, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:09:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahaviel/pseuds/Ahaviel
Summary: When Dean takes the brunt of a spell intended to evict Castiel from his vessel, his mind fractures and it falls to Cas and Sam to put him back together—not knowing how many pieces of Dean there are, or which part will come out next. Will it be the innocent child who remembers that angels are watching over him? The Hell-tortured adult who believes he’s not worthy of rescue? The angry hunter who has been betrayed one too many times? Or the lover who no longer has a reason to hold back?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: This fic heavily involves a depiction of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). All of the information about DID in this fic is accurate and based on a significant amount of research into DID as well as interviews with current and past multiples. However, this_ **is** _a fictional story, and Dean's healing time is neither typical nor average. People with DID take years—even decades—to heal from their trauma, and some may choose to never integrate._
> 
> _Welcome to my first DCBB! I want to give a huge shout-out to[TheFriendlyPigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com), who did the incredible art for this fic. I've been enamored with TheFriendlyPigeon's stunning artwork for quite some time, whose signature itself reminds me of lattice on a bridge, who can evoke light and warmth with astounding clarity, and **thank you so much for choosing my fic!**._
> 
> _I’d like to also thank Muse and Jojo, the mods for the DCBB. Your patience and explanations have helped this DCBB newbie experience approximately 87.4% fewer anxiety attacks along the way._
> 
> _Many thanks to my beta reader, who is not in the fandom, but who is long used to reading my various works in progress._
> 
> _You can find me on[Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ahaviel_selah) and [Tumblr](http://ahaviel-selah.tumblr.com/)._
> 
> _You can find all of[TheFriendlyPigeon's amazing art here on Tumblr](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/)._
> 
> _This is a work of fanfiction. Characters are the intellectual property of the copyright holders of Supernatural produced by Kripke Enterprises and Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc. and are used under the fair use exemption as a non-commercial derivative work. Original character names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

“Step aside, Dean Winchester,” Rowena scolded. “I just need the angel. Former angel.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Half-angel. Whatever.”

Sam’s head snapped up from where he was cleaning his machete. They’d just dispatched a group of wraiths and ghouls staking out a warehouse used as an area food shelf. People struggling to get by would come in to get food, then become food.

“Crowley put you up to this?” Dean demanded from where he stood across a grocery loading zone. Cas, standing behind Dean, had done whatever he did with his angel blade, disappearing it until next time, but looked like he was ready to draw it again.

“Fergus?”

Rowena took a step closer to Dean. She was maybe two-thirds of the distance across the loading area, her back to Sam. He sent a questioning look toward his brother, who gave him a tiny shake of his head.

“Of course not,” Rowena continued. “As if I would do anything for that ungrateful excuse for a son.”

“Well, you’re not getting Cas.”

“That’s not really your decision now, is it? Come now, this won’t hurt him. I don’t think.”

“What do you need me for?” Cas asked, moving out from behind Dean, looking unconcerned. “Information? A translation, perhaps?” He continued to walk slowly away from Dean.

Sam thought he knew what Cas was up to. Ever the strategist, Cas was moving to a point that would place Rowena in the center of a triangle. If she kept her attention on him, she left her rear unguarded. It also took her attention away from Dean.

“Not even that much, you poor thing.” She lowered her head coquettishly and looked at Cas from under her lashes. Her voice fell to a near-whisper, and she withdrew a small vial from her cleavage.

Immediately, Sam recognized the beginning of a spell, the vial likely containing all the necessary ingredients. “No!” he shouted, starting toward her.

But Dean was faster, calling, “Cas!” as he dove between her and Cas at the same time she crushed the glass vial in her fist, mixing her blood with the contents, and threw it at Cas. It exploded into a cloud in Dean’s face moments before he hit the ground.

When Sam looked up from his brother’s still form, Rowena had disappeared. He raced over to Dean, grimacing at the foul-smelling herbs; Cas already had his hand to Dean’s face

“What happened to him, Cas?” Sam asked, not even trying to hide his worry. “What did she do to him?”

“I don’t know, Sam. But something isn’t right.”

“Is he... Is he going to be okay?”

“Physically, he is well. His life is in no danger. But there is... I can’t connect to his consciousness. Perhaps when he wakes we’ll know more.”

“That’s it? I mean, is there anything more you can do?”

“Not at the moment, no. I don’t have near the healing abilities I had before. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re sure he’ll wake up? She didn’t cast another attack dog spell or anything, did she?”

“Not that spell, no. But I did pick up a bit of what she said. It was intended to separate me from my vessel.” Cas paused. “And prevent me from returning.”

“Dean’s still... He’s still in there, isn’t he?” Sam asked. All he could think of was if the spell separated Dean’s soul from his body. He remembered too well what it felt like to try and make amends for all that his soulless self had done, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Cas seemed to sense what he was thinking. “His soul is fine; that much I know.”

“So we get him back to the bunker.”

“I think that is all we can do for now, yes.” Cas picked Dean up in a fireman's carry. He may not have much of his grace left, but Sam was grateful that Cas was still more powerful than the average human, or even the average hunter.

 

* * *

 

“Any change?” Sam asked. It had been a couple-hour drive back to the bunker, and Dean hadn’t stirred once. Cas had laid Dean down in his bed, going to obvious pains to try and make Dean comfortable.

“No. But he’s not in a coma. In fact, there’s an unusual amount of brain activity.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never come across something like this before. Let’s try to wake him.”

“I’ve got smelling salts. Hang on.” Sam ran down the hall to their pharmacy, initially stocked through selective pilfering, then later by careful hacks from Charlie, who had taught Sam before she was killed. Charlie—and Jody— were perhaps the only allies who never caused Sam to worry about their trustworthiness. Everyone else who’d ever helped had either turned on them or threatened to bail. Even Kevin, who was dragged into the whole tablet mess against his will, would probably have taken off for school or at least someplace without demons if he’d had the chance. And if he had, he’d probably still be alive.

Sam choked back emotions. Even he hadn’t been fully trustworthy. He grabbed a smelling salt capsule and returned to Dean's bedroom. Other than the fact that Cas was now sitting on the edge of the bed, nothing had changed.

He broke open the capsule under Dean’s nose and tried not to inhale the noxious smell.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he nearly threw himself off the bed, yelling, “Cas!”

“It’s okay,” Sam reassured him. “You’re okay, Dean. We’re in the bunker. Cas is here. Rowena’s gone.”

“How do you feel, Dean?” Cas asked, reaching his hand out to Dean’s face.

Dean jerked away from him, scooting himself toward the head of the bed and bringing his knees up to his chest. “Who are you?” he asked in a small voice.

“Cas,” Cas said, clearly confused. “I’m Castiel.”

“ _What_ are you?” Dean’s voice seemed small, almost a whisper.

Sam met Cas’ puzzled gaze. “Cas is our friend,” Sam said.

“But you have wings,” Dean said, smiling with an innocent look that Sam was pretty sure he’d never seen on his brother’s face before. “They’re pretty.”


	2. Chapter 2

“How can he see your wings?” Sam demanded, his glare slightly more intimidating than Castiel was prepared to deal with at the moment.

They’d moved to the kitchen under some pretense of preparing food for Dean, although Sam had made no move to fix either meal or snack. Other than burgers and pie, neither of which Castiel knew how to prepare from ingredients, Castiel wasn’t even certain what Dean would eat. Bacon, perhaps? Dean did seem to have an affinity for breakfast foods.

Castiel shook his head, unable to figure it out. No human should be able to see his wings. No human could see into the etheric plane. Except… He’d heard stories about young children still being able to see into both the etheric and astral planes before they learned to only focus on the physical plane. Such children also were able to see spirits, even remember a previous life if they had waived their right to remain in their personal heaven and decided to incarnate again as another human.

Had Rowena’s spell, intended to evict him from his vessel—his body—somehow age-regressed Dean?

“Sam. I think we need to consider the possibility that Rowena’s spell may have temporarily altered Dean’s personality. I don’t know how, but the only humans who have the ability to see an angel’s wings are very young children.”

“Are you...? No. No, I— We need to go talk to him. Now.”

“I thought you were going to bring him a snack,” Castiel prompted.

“Right. Well, the fastest way to Dean’s heart is always through his stomach.” Sam pulled a box out of the freezer, emptied some frozen contents onto a plate, and put it in the microwave oven. “Maybe Hot Pockets will yield us something.”

When the machine beeped, Sam withdrew the plate and nodded his head toward the hallway. “Let’s go figure out what that witch did to Dean.”

 

When they got back to Dean’s room, he was up, his fingers gently tracing the weapons he’d recently rehung on his wall. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted as they entered.

“Dean! Are you feeling better?” Sam set the plate of Hot Pockets on Dean’s desk.

“I’m fine. But, uh…” He nodded his head toward Castiel. “What’s he doing here?”

“Um...” Sam laughed shortly. “Cas lives here.”

“Really.” Dean’s voice was disbelieving, hard. “So, what, you decided that we’ll hunt some monsters and adopt the really pathetic ones?”

A pang shot through Castiel at that, though he reminded himself that Dean was not well.

“No, Dean,” Sam said. “Cas has proven himself time and time again. He’s earned a place here.”

“Yeah? That what Dad would say?”

“What does Dad have to do with this?” Sam asked. “He’s been gone for years. And he saw things in black and white. We’ve found a better way.”

Dean made a face, clearly not accepting that argument.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked at him suspiciously, then cut his eyes to Sam. “Took down a warehouse full of wraiths and ghouls.”

“Do you remember Rowena?” Castiel pressed.

“The witch? Sure. _Book of the Damned_. How could I forget?”

“Do you remember seeing her today?”

“No. Just the warehouse. We finished the hunt. I must’ve done a pretty spectacular job, to have fallen asleep before even getting home. Betcha I got more kills than Sam, huh?” Dean flashed a grin that was part charm, part cockiness.

“Can you see my wings?” Castiel continued.

“No. Why? Am I supposed to take you out if I do?”

“No!” Sam said quickly. “Just… We’re trying to figure out what happened.”

“Nothing happened, Sam. We had a good hunt, cleaned out a warehouse. What’s next? You got another case for us?”

“I don’t think taking another case right now is prudent,” Castiel said.

“Not your call, angel.”

Castiel frowned. Dean was fond of using nicknames, usually as a sign of affection. But this was not an affectation. This had a coldness to it, as if to underscore the fact that Castiel was not human and therefore did not belong.

“Okay, enough arguing.” Sam held his hands up. “I’m tired and hungry and I need a shower.”

Castiel watched as Dean’s entire demeanor changed. He almost seemed to shrink, standing not as tall. Wrinkles etched in his face from stress and age smoothed out. Even the shape of his eyes changed, as if different muscles took over.

“What am I thinkin’, Sammy?” Dean said, his voice a little more nasal, pitched somewhat higher. He strode out of his room and into the hallway. “I should’ve fixed something right away.”

“Dean.” Sam stopped his brother in the hall. “What are you talking about? I just brought you a snack.”

“I must’ve fallen asleep. I think we’ve still got some hot dogs?” Dean looked down both directions for the hallway, as if unsure which way to go.

A suspicion arose in Castiel’s mind. “Dean,” he began, “how old are you?”

“Old enough to take care of my brother,” Dean snapped. “And who are you anyway? You from social services? Our dad’s coming back. He’s on a job and left me in charge. We’re fine.”

Borrowing Dean’s own hunter training, Castiel eased into the lie. “We at social services know that you’re doing an impressive job taking care of your brother. However, our supervisor requires statistics, and wants us to keep track of the ages of our best minor caregivers. So I just need your current age and I’ll be on my way.”

“Twelve and a half,” Dean answered.

“Twelve.” Castiel nodded his understanding.

“And a half,” Dean added.

“Of course, Dean. Twelve and a half. Almost a teenager.” He caught Sam’s shocked look and tried to convey some reassurance.

“And you can see for yourself, Sammy’s nice and healthy. Growing like a weed too.”

“He is indeed,” Castiel agreed. “Perhaps Sam—Sammy—will see me out. Then you can fix his dinner.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Just wait here, Dean. I’ll be right back.”

“’Kay Sammy.”

They made it as far as the library before Sam turned on him. “What the hell is going on?”

“I think I know what happened to your brother, Sam. I think the spell that was supposed to separate me from my vessel separated Dean’s mind. It’s fractured.”

After a long silence, understanding grew on Sam’s face. “Multiple personality disorder,” he said. “A young child, who could see your wings. And Dean like he was years ago, following in Dad’s footsteps.”

“And a twelve-year-old, who appeared when you said you were tired and hungry,” Castiel added.

“So what do we do about it?” Sam asked. “How do we fix him?”

“It seems to me it’s time for research.”

“It’s not something you can do?”

“I would if I could, Sam. But we don’t even know how many different pieces he’s in.”

“Then we start listing them.” Sam grabbed his laptop and opened it as he sat down at table closest to the war room, impatiently stabbing at the keyboard. He slumped back in his chair suddenly and ran a hand down his face. “What are we even going to call them? How are we going to know who we’re talking to?” He sat forward and swiped and tapped some more. “I just want my brother back.”

Castiel sighed, trying to figure out how to word this gently. Sam was strong, quite possibly the emotionally stronger of the two brothers, but this setback left him fragile. Sometime soon, Sam would set his feelings aside and go into full research mode, but until then, it was important he understand something. “Sam… that _is_ your brother. All of them are your brother. They’re just…different parts of him, separated from each other.”

“I’m trying to understand that, Cas. I really am. I get the whole soul/no-soul thing. Body, soul. Two different things. And I think I understand about angels borrowing vessels. Like with Gadreel. We occupied the same body but we were separate. I wasn’t even aware of him most of the time.” He paused and then looked at Cas with trepidation. “Cas,” he said urgently, “do you think all the different Deans are aware of each other?”

“That would be something to ask him,” Castiel answered. “Carefully.”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. “Okay. I’m going to create a spreadsheet. Might be overkill, but…” He typed for a few moments. “I’ve got three identified so far. The child who can see your wings. The adult who was Dad’s…”

Sam struggled for a word until Castiel suggested, “Soldier?”

Huffing out a breath, Sam nodded. “That’s as good as anything. Okay, Dad’s soldier. And the teen who took care of me.” He went to one of the bookcases and pulled out a wire-bound notebook with a pen clipped to the coil. “Let me go see which…um…which Dean is there. If he still thinks you’re from social services…”

“You’re right, of course,” Castiel said. “Call me before you start interviewing him?”

Sam flashed an uneasy smile. “I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel took the few moments of silence to review what he knew. A fractured mind was not new, even though Castiel didn’t have personal experience with it. It was different from the wall in Sam’s mind. That had truly been a wall, thick and sturdy. A barrier. What was going on with Dean was more like deep cracks. Chasms.

The human mind was a beautiful thing, intricate yet strong, able to make a million logical arguments only to be overridden by a strong emotion. Yet it was also like glass. Put enough pressure on it, and it would crack. Break. Usually along lines of weakness, which in turn were most often created through trauma. And it wasn’t like Dean had a lack of trauma in his life. So if he fractured along those lines… Castiel let out a long sigh. Sam’s spreadsheet idea might not be overkill after all.

What they needed was a way to ask Dean questions so that they could get some answers. If he still had enough of his grace, he could simply _look_ inside and find out. But that wasn’t an option anymore.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice called from the hallway. “Can you come here? Slowly?”

Castiel made his way toward Dean’s bedroom, wondering which Dean would require him to be slow. Which primary emotion would he encounter? Could be anger. Or fear. Or disgust.

Sam stood sideways in the doorway, glancing back and forth between Castiel and the bedroom’s interior. His face didn’t give any hint to what Castiel would find.

When he carefully entered Dean’s bedroom, Dean was back on his bed, holding his knees to his chest, head bent low, his face hidden. “Dean?” Castiel said, as gently as he knew how. Interacting with people, talking with them, guiding them, comforting them—that was never part of his training. Even Gabriel got the people-skills training, back when he was still helping with dreams and pregnancies.

Dean looked up from his knees, his face tear-stained. His eyes seemed bigger, the green of his irises brighter, his skin softer and paler. “You’re back!” Dean’s voice was definitely higher, almost thin and reedy. His smile was genuine and full of wonder. “Mom said you’d be here.”

“Your mother?” Castiel asked, now not sure if this was Mary of the past or Mary that had returned, courtesy of Amara.

“She told me angels are watching over me,” Dean said with conviction, a slight nod to his head.

“I’ll always watch over you, Dean.”

“Can you sit with me? Please?”

Castiel moved to the side of the bed and sat carefully, not wanting to scare the child part away. “Can Sam stay here too?”

“I don’t know him,” Dean said. “Is he nice?”

“Yes. He is. Sam would give his life for you. How about if he sits at the table there?” Castiel motioned to the small table to the side of the bed.

“If you say he’s nice then okay.”

Sam nodded what Castiel presumed was a thanks, then took his notebook and pen and went to the table. He began writing notes as soon as he sat down.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked back down to his knees. When he spoke, his voice was near a whisper. “I said your wings were pretty. Did I do a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” Castiel could only imagine what Dean saw. “I’m just not used to anyone seeing them.”

“They got hurt.” Dean said it as a statement.

“Yes.”

“Do they still hurt?”

“No. Not much anymore.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose in a way Castiel had never seen before, conveying innocent hope and curiosity. “Can… Can I touch them?”

Sam immediately looked up with a short huff, watching intently.

Castiel swallowed down his unease. “Yes, Dean. You can touch them.” He stretched one wing out, still keeping them in the etheric plane, amazed that Dean could see them at all. Sam’s expression made it clear he didn’t see anything.

Dean reached one hand out cautiously, then lightly pet the long flight feathers. His confidence seemed to grow with each stroke along Castiel’s wing, and he moved his way up the wing toward the upper arch.

Castiel raised his alulae and touched Dean’s hand, then let out a gasp. Dean’s hand, where it touched him, felt small, like a child’s hand.

Instantly Dean recoiled. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, Dean. Not at all.” Cas stretched his wing out farther, the flight feathers lightly stroking Dean’s shoulder and arm. As he suspected, his wings could sense what his vessel could not: Dean was a child of about four. A very normal, happy child.

Dean giggled—a small child’s giggle—and reached out to pet the wing again. It seemed to mesmerize him as he traced the feathers with his fingers, and that gave Castiel an idea.

“Do you live with anyone, Dean?”

“Mm hmm.” Dean nodded. “My mom and my dad. And my mom’s going to have a baby.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nuh uh.” Dean continued to pet the wing, being careful to go with the direction of the feather vanes.

“Have you heard any voices other than mine and Sam’s?” Castiel asked.

“Mmm… I heard someone yelling. A man, I think. He sounded scary so I hid.”

“And where did you hide?”

Dean pressed his fingers into the feathers, his small fingertips coming into contact with the skin, making Castiel’s breath hitch. “In my room.”

“In here?” Castiel said, indicating the bedroom in the bunker.

“No…” Dean looked at him, confused. The more Castiel studied his face, the more he could see the child Dean. “This isn’t my room. I mean my room at home. With Mom and Dad. And there’s an angel on the shelf. My mom put it there. But it’s not real. And it has white wings, not like yours.” Dean ran his hand down the flight feathers again, then stopped near the tips. “Yours are almost black, ‘cept when you move, I can see all the colors of the rainbow in them. And down here,” he gently pet the tips with one finger, “this blue is the same color as your eyes.”

“Cas…” Sam’s voice sounded almost strangled.

Castiel nodded affirmatively at Sam, then looked back at Dean. “What’s outside of your bedroom? When you don’t have to hide anymore?”

“I— I don’t know. When I came out after hiding from the yelling man, I was here. And he,” Dean turned a petulant look on Sam, “was mad too.”

“I wasn’t—”

Castiel cut him off with a look and returned his attention to Dean. “Can you go back into your bedroom now?”

“I don’t…” Tears sprang to Dean’s eyes, rapidly filling the lower lids. “I don’t know how.”

Castiel stroked his wing along Dean’s arm again, then brushed gently against his cheek, wetting the feather tips with Dean’s tears. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. And anytime you want to see me, just come out of your bedroom.”

“Okay.” Dean sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “You promise?”

“I promise that I will continue to watch over you, Dean. You can count on that.”

Dean nodded and sniffled again. “Okay.”

“But right now…” Castiel made his tone more authoritative and spoke sharply. “Sammy needs your help, Dean.”

Dean’s face lengthened slightly and his eyes narrowed, looking more tired, wary, suspicious. “Thought you said you were leaving,” he accused.

Castiel kept his wing outstretched and touched Dean’s arm. Dean showed no reaction other than to glare at him. “Where were you just now?”

Snorting, Dean rolled his eyes. “Our room. Where else would I be?”

“Your bedroom?” Castiel clarified.

“Look, man, you said you just needed my age. You want to leave your business card, I’ll have my dad call you when he gets back, which is gonna be anytime now.”

“Dean.” Castiel put some more steel in his voice. “What room were you just in?”

“Our motel room. I don’t have a bedroom, okay?”

“Was anyone in there with you?”

“Well, Sammy was, but he left to…” Dean looked at Sam, confused. “You’re not supposed to go anywhere without me. You _know_ that. Man, Dad is gonna be so pissed…” He ran a hand over his face, stopping when it covered his mouth.

“So you were in your motel room just a moment ago, and then you were here?” Castiel asked.

Dean dropped his hand. “Yeah. Sammy was gonna walk you out and then he didn’t come back right away, so I came out looking for him. I think. I can’t quite remember.”

“Did you hear anyone talking?”

“Yeah, actually. I heard someone say Sammy needed my help. And I still haven’t made dinner.” He moved to get off the bed.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Stop. I’m fine. I’m not hungry right now. But you can help us a lot by answering some questions. It would really, _really_ help me,” he added.

Slowly, Dean relaxed and moved back toward the head of the bed. “Yeah. Okay.” He shrugged. “Whaddya wanna know?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam tried to put himself back into what he remembered of his childhood. A lot had happened since then. Things this Dean wouldn’t know about. “How long’s Dad been gone this time?” he asked.

“Just a couple days.” Dean paused, his eyes shifting side-to-side as he stared toward the floor. “He said it was gonna be a short hunt. So he’ll be back any day now.”

“Hey, I’m not worried,” Sam said, keeping his voice easy. “I’ve got my big brother to protect me.”

“Right.”

“And we’ve got Cas here too,” Sam added with a gesture toward Cas.

“Social services guy?” Dean stared at Cas as if issuing a challenge. “How’s he gonna help?”

Cas shifted his shoulders and Sam could almost, _almost_ imagine him folding his wings behind him. But that didn’t make sense; why would he still have them spread out? “I’m not really from social services,” Cas said. “I’m an a—”

“What he means to say,” Sam broke in, “is that he’s an agent. He’s worked with Dad and Uncle Bobby. Dad sent him to help out where we might need him.”

“You sayin’ I’m not good enough?” Dean sat up straighter, clearly insulted.

Raising his hands, palms-out, Sam answered quickly, “No! No. That’s not what we’re saying. You’re doing a great job, Dean. Only way I could’ve grown this much is ’cause of you.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said.

“But… You said that when you went outside our motel room, you wound up here. Right?”

Dean nodded, looking wary.

“We, Cas and I,” Sam motioned between them, “think that there may be some other people who need help, and they might be right outside your—our—motel room door. Maybe even a young child. I know you can’t leave me alone to go check it out, but maybe keep an ear out? Let us know what you hear?”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “I can do that. You think they’re dangerous?”

“Mostly likely not,” Cas spoke up. “But they may be afraid, and fear can cause people to act without thinking things through. You’ll have to be the level-headed one.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Dean. Okay?” Sam wanted confirmation on that one for sure.

“Okay.” Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“I brought you some Hot Pockets.” He pointed to the dish on Dean’s desk. “They might be cold now, but I could heat them up. Or—” he broke off as Dean nearly leaped off the bed and started stuffing Hot Pockets into his mouth. “You could just eat them. Okay… So Cas and I are going to go talk for a few minutes while you eat. We won’t leave the building.”

“Mm hmm,” Dean mumbled around a full mouth.

Sam nodded toward the door and thankfully Cas followed without saying anything. When they got back out to the library, Sam sat down and motioned to the chair opposite.

“What is it, Sam?” Cas asked.

“I remembered something. I never told you about it.” He shrugged. “Never figured I’d need to. But now I’m wondering if it’s important.”

“Go on.”

“Remember when you broke my wall?”

Immediately Cas seemed to shrink into himself, his shoulders hunching in, and he stared at the floor. “I am still so sorry for that.”

“No, that’s—” Sam let out a quick breath. “Thank you. But that’s not why I brought it up. Right after, Dean and Bobby brought me back to Bobby’s house. I was unconscious for a while. But in my head, I was trying to find my way back to my body. To wake up. And along the way, I met two other pieces of me. The soulless version of me, who was a total dick. And the…the version that…the part that remembered the cage. Being in it. What happened there.”

Cas looked at him with pained eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you—all of you—out sooner.”

“I know, Cas. And I forgive you. I do. But don’t you see? It was like I broke in three pieces. Like Dean. And the only way to put myself back together was to kill the other two parts and absorb their memories. To become whole again. That’s when I woke up. I mean,” he shrugged, “that’s when the hallucinations started too, but… What I’m saying is, what if one of the Deans has to kill all the others? To be whole again?”

“No…” Cas shook his head slowly as he drew the word out. “There’s too much risk with that. And your parts were all within the confines of your mind. All of these Deans are interacting with the world. I—” He closed his eyes and let out a long breath before opening them again. “That would have to be a last option. If nothing else works. Only then.”

“So how do we help him? I mean, it seems like these different pieces of Dean show up when something happens out here that—”

“Calls him forth,” Cas finished. “Of course. On some level, all the parts must be minimally aware of what’s going on, enough that the appropriate part comes forth when needed.”

“Or triggered,” Sam said. “When I went in his room before, it wasn’t the big brother teen who showed up. It was the little kid, who wanted to see you again.”

“Perhaps we should show him some different items, to see which parts those items elicit. We still need to know how many parts there are.”

“And I’ll continue to take notes,” Sam agreed. “I’ve got ages, some personality descriptions, what their ‘rooms’ are.” Sam closed the notebook and stood, his excitement growing. “This is a great idea. I’ll get some things out of the Impala. Maybe you can look in his room?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Mind already on the items he wanted to gather, Sam hurried to the garage.

 

* * *

 

Castiel made his way back to Dean’s room, thinking about what he might search for that wasn’t already visible. Photos, perhaps? What about the amulet Dean had loaned him in his vain quest for God? Not that he wanted to touch the thing again. Was there some piece of clothing that Dean might—

“Cas!” Dean’s voice sounded relieved.

Castiel looked up to see Dean standing in his doorway. “Dean?”

“Oh man, you’re okay. I thought… I thought Rowena had gotten to you.”

Covering the distance between them in a few steps, Cas tried for a smile. “I am fine. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean ignored his question. “Uh… Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the garage. Why?”

Grabbing his arm, Dean pulled him into his room and closed the door, backing him up against it. “We got a few minutes then.” He dropped his hand, only to rub the back of his neck with it. “The last thing I remember? Thinking I was gonna lose you. Again.”

“Dean—”

“No, hear me out, Cas. I don’t know if I can say this more than once. Every time…” He swallowed, looked away, then met Castiel’s eyes. “Every time I lose you, it…it destroys me. And I’ve realized, one of these times, you’re not comin’ back. I don’t want that to _ever_ happen, but if it does, I don’t want it to happen without you knowin’ how I feel.”

Castiel tried to discern what Dean was getting at. Dean’s emotions were so often covered up with layer upon layer of anger or shame, Dean himself might not even know what he was feeling. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean this,” Dean said, gently placing his hands on either side of Castiel’s face. He glanced down about two inches, then back to Castiel’s eyes. Slowly, he came closer, until Castiel could feel Dean’s breath caressing his lips, Dean’s body heat radiating through his clothes. “Stop me if this isn’t okay,” Dean said in a near-whisper.

“I see no reason to stop,” Castiel replied, hearing his own voice rougher than usual.

“Good.”

Dean’s lips grazed his, warm and soft, then returned more enthusiastically. Waves of longing and relief spilled off of Dean as he tentatively licked Castiel’s lips. Castiel opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, the taste of Dean exploding on his tongue in a burst of euphoria. Never once did he think this would actually happen, though he’d wanted it for years. He brought his hands up to Dean’s shoulder blades, pulling him into an embrace and wishing this moment would never end.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean panted between kisses. “I think I have since…since that time in Bobby’s kitchen when you threatened to throw me back in Hell.” He broke away from Castiel’s lips, mouthing down his chin, his throat, sucking a bruise there. “Every time I wanted to say something, I couldn’t get it out.” Dean pulled back, looking as though he was searching Castiel’s eyes. “I don’t know why nothing’s stopping me now, but I’m damn glad of it.”

Castiel pressed forward for another kiss. “I didn’t know for sure you felt this way.” He kissed Dean’s eyelids, his nose, then back to his mouth. “I’d hoped. More than anything.”

“I just…” Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s, breathing heavily. “I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time.”

“Shhh…” Castiel placed a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “What’s done is done. We’re here now. We have this moment. And all the ones to follow.”

“I want every one, Cas. Every last one.”

“Then you will have them. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean hugged Castiel tightly to him and buried his face against Castiel’s neck. Returning the hug, Castiel felt the moment everything changed. Dean’s body went from soft, almost pliable, to solid and stiff. Muscles shifted as if Dean’s entire posture was different. He raised his head and slammed Castiel against the door with his arm across Castiel’s chest, pinning him there. Or thought he was, anyway. Castiel decided to just go with it rather than fight.

“What _exactly_ do you think you’re doing?” Dean demanded. No softness remained in his face; his eyes were accusing.

“Nothing you didn’t want to happen,” Castiel retorted without thinking.

Dean shoved himself away from the door, reached under his pillow, and within seconds, had a gun trained on Castiel. “I’m a _hunter_. The only people I care about saving are human. I don’t know what you were trying here, but you stay away from me. Understand?”

Castiel felt the door move behind him, and he moved forward at the same time Sam stuck his head in and said, “Hey, why’s the door—?” and then the gun went off.


	5. Chapter 5

The bullet tore through the meat of Castiel’s upper left arm and buried itself in the door behind him. Immediately, Castiel put pressure on the wound, careful not to squeeze so tight as to cut off all circulation to the arm.

Sam stormed through the door, wrenched the gun out of Dean’s hand, and was yelling something Castiel couldn’t quite make out through a buzzing in his brain. Again, Castiel could see Dean transform, this time looking older, defeated. His eyes appeared sunken and the lines on his face deepened. Dean sat heavily on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hand.

Moments later, Sam was in his field of vision. “Cas? Sit down,” Sam was saying. “Cas!”

Castiel sat down on a green couch, allowing Sam to tug his coats off the injured arm. He managed to unbutton his shirt with one hand, slipping it off his shoulder to expose the wound. It wasn’t bad, as wounds go. He’d had far worse. The pain was a sharp ache on the edge of his consciousness; if he’d still had all his grace, he wouldn’t have felt any of it.

He let Sam patch up his arm, then, as Sam was winding gauze over the wound, he turned his attention back to Dean. And Dean was…crying.

“Dean,” Castiel said, getting up to go to him.

“No, Cas. Don’t.” Dean held one hand up as if keeping him away. “I’m not worth it.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

Dean looked up, tear tracks running down his cheeks from haunted, sunken eyes. “I’m talking about nearly killing my best friend. Again. It doesn’t matter: if I’m in Hell, if I’m a demon, if I’ve got the mark. It’s just me.”

“It is _not_ just you,” Castiel said. “These were forces beyond your control.”

“Yeah? _I’m_ the one who broke in Hell. _I’m_ the one who took on the mark. _I’m_ the one who made those choices, over and over again. It didn’t happen _to_ me. _I_ did it. You might as well give me back that gun, Sam.” Dean motioned for him to hand it over. “I’ll do what I should have done years ago. Dead things should stay dead, right?”

Sam started to take a step forward, then hesitated. “Dean, I swear I will lock you up in the dungeon if that’s what I need to do to keep you safe.”

“I’ll find a way, Sammy. You know I will.”

“Dean…” Sam shook his head as if in warning.

Maybe locking Dean up was going to be the best thing, but Castiel had an idea to try first. “Dean!” he said loudly. “Sam’s in trouble!”

Dean looked at him with confusion before he went through a full-body shudder and his features shifted. The change between suicidal adult and tween protector was distinct, and Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if vessels’ family members noticed similar changes depending on when an angel was in control.

“Where is he?” Dean said as he leapt up off the bed. Seeing Sam only a few feet away, he froze. “What’s going on?” Noticing Castiel’s bandaged arm, he added. “What happened to you?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel eased his shirt back on and carefully buttoned it. “Dean, how good are you at reconnaissance?”

“I did some recon for Dad. Not…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Not a lot, but I know how.”

“And you were in your motel room before you came here?”

“Yeah. I listened, like you said. I thought maybe I heard someone talking, but I couldn’t see them.”

Putting his coats back on, Castiel could almost pretend his arm didn’t hurt. “I’m going to try something. I think it will send you back to your room. Here’s what I’d like you to do: I want you to open your door, but don’t leave the room. Just stay there with the door open. Watch and listen. I’ll call you back in a little bit, and I want to know everything you saw and heard.”

“Yeah, okay. But what are you gonna do to send me back?”

Castiel guided him to sit back down on the bed. “Just lie back. I’m going to touch your forehead and you’ll feel sleepy. That’s normal. Allow it to happen.”

“’Kay.”

With two fingers, Castiel sent a brief pulse of grace into Dean’s consciousness, pushing him into sleep. He turned to Sam. “We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Sam followed Cas back into the library, wondering how much Cas’ arm hurt and if he’d admit to any pain. “What happened while I was gone? I was only in the garage for a few minutes.”

“There are at least two more pieces.”

Cas sat down and Sam noticed a slight wince with the movement. “Will you take some painkillers, Cas?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“Can you heal yourself?”

“It will take a little time, but yes. Please don’t worry about me. It’s Dean I’m concerned about. When I returned to his room, he seemed like himself at first. But… I don’t know how to say this.”

Sam sat across from him and opened his notebook. “Now’s not the time for judgment, Cas. What did he do?”

Cas looked everywhere except at Sam. Finally he stared at the table as if the wood grain was the most interesting thing on the planet. “He kissed me.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sam said, overwhelming relief leaving him fatigued.

Looking up, Cas narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Or,” Sam said with a shrug, hoping he wasn’t insulting Cas’ father or something, “whomever there is to thank.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look, maybe you haven’t noticed, but Dean’s been in love with you since…I don’t know. Years. A long time. It’s _painfully_ obvious. To me, anyway. But he never lets himself have that. Have _you_. Never lets himself be happy. So, I’m kind of glad he’s got that part. Maybe, when he gets put back together again, that part won’t be so buried.

“Oh.” Cas returned his gaze to the tabletop. “I didn’t realize you knew.”

“Cas, I think the entire universe knows. Everyone except Dean. But that doesn’t explain why he had his gun on you. Why he _shot_ you.”

“It was shortly after the kiss. I think…I think maybe that other part, your father’s soldier, didn’t approve.”

Sam rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. “You know, I _know_ Dad loved us, but he had a shitty way of showing it. A lot of crap about what it meant to be a _man_. I never was, in his eyes. Don’t get me started on how many times he called me a sissy or a wuss. But Dean… Dean tried so hard. And yeah, loving a guy, who isn’t even human…” He huffed out a breath. “When we fix him, can we leave that part out?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick and choose the parts of the people we love. We have to accept them as they are.”

“Yeah. Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” Sam looked at the notebook. “So, we’ve got a part that’s in love with you. And one who’s ready to commit suicide.”

“It’s the part that can’t forgive himself,” Cas offered.

“I know. But I’ve got no idea how we’re going to convince him otherwise.” Sam added the two parts to the list. “So now I’ve got five.”

“There seems to be a structure to this,” Cas said. “I suspect each part has their own room, a place that relates to how old they are in Dean’s life. Coming out of their room is…coming out to take over as the primary part. I don’t understand, though, how there’s no fighting. In a vessel, it’s very simple; I had the ability to keep Jimmy asleep for long periods, things he didn’t need to know about or experience. Though not all angels do so, and when they leave, what they leave behind… It’s not fair to the person who agreed to give up so much for them. Then again, they had little compassion for humans.”

Sam sat forward in his chair, excitement growing as he latched on to the metaphor. “Well, if they all have rooms, like a house or a dorm or something, then wouldn’t there be a common area? A hallway or…or a living room?”

“That was precisely what I had in mind when I asked…”

“Tween Dean?” Sam offered with a smirk, knowing that Dean would never forgive him for that if he ever found out.

Cas nodded once, slowly. “…Tween Dean to open the door but not leave the room. I’m hoping he will see or hear something that will give us more information.”

“How long will he sleep?” Sam asked, itching to open his laptop.

“A couple of hours at least.”

“Great.” He reached for the computer, both to enter his handwritten notes in the spreadsheet and to start answering their questions. “Maybe some information on multiple personalities will help us too.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So get this,” Sam said, finally looking up from his laptop. He’d bookmarked at least a dozen sites, read for over an hour, and felt like he had a pretty good handle on the concept.

Cas looked up from where he’d been resting or meditating or whatever he did when he was quiet and still for long periods. “You found something?”

“Yeah. A lot.” Sam started to organize his thoughts in his head. “Well, first, it’s not called Multiple Personality Disorder anymore. It’s now called Dissociative Identity Disorder. Where the identity of the person dissociates from itself and from the body. It’s a…a coping mechanism to deal with overwhelming trauma. A way to keep from going insane, essentially. Apparently, the idea of multiple personalities is kind of a misnomer. It’s like you said, all of Dean’s parts are all _Dean_ —they’re not exactly different people—but they’re different ages, have different ways of speaking, thinking.

“According to what I’ve read, all of the parts, which are often called alters, as in ‘alter personality,’ often see themselves as different people, and there’s evidence that one alter may have an allergy that the others don’t, or one has a disease that others don’t. One can be an alcoholic with all the signs of late-stage alcoholism and the others don’t even like the taste of the stuff. They can even be different genders, or not human at all. It’s fascinating, really, what the brain can do to protect itself.”

“Yes,” Cas said with what sounded like some combination of awe and authority, “the human mind is one of my father’s most impressive creations.”

“So, the purpose of each of these alters, these parts, is to hold only a portion of the traumatic memories. That’s how it isn’t overwhelming for the entire person, see, that there are this dissociative walls that keep the memories from being too much to bear. It’s just like my wall, except instead of a physical wall, this is like… I don’t know… empty space?”

“Chasms,” Cas suggested.

“Yes!” Sam pointed a finger at him. “Exactly. It’s treated with long-term psychotherapy. The idea is that if the alters can share their memories and process them so the memories don’t have any power anymore, then there’s no reason for that alter to exist, and it integrates with the whole. It doesn’t go away or die, but is absorbed. That’s kind of what happened when I had to kill the other two of me. I absorbed their energy and their memories. But there was no processing beforehand.”

“So we have to get Dean to tell us his memories?” Cas asked. “This makes sense for the part that wants to kill himself, but what would the young child be remembering?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe he holds Dean’s innocence? Anyway, these articles said that while all this is going on, the alters develop some autonomy and sometimes argue for control of the body. There can be a lot of fighting, and some alters may try to intimidate or even hurt each other. But check this out: nearly every system—that’s what the whole group of alters is called—has at least one helper part. Someone who mediates between alters and might even do something like therapy with them, all inside their mind. The helper gets the parts working together and communicating and that’s what enables the person to start healing.”

“We need to find this helper part.” Cas sounded determined.

“Exactly.” Sam couldn’t help the thrill that wound itself through him as the next thought came to him. “And it’s weird, because I read some personal accounts from people who used to be multiple, as they called themselves, and several said that the helper part never integrated, and years later, after they’d fully healed, the helper part continued to talk with them, or visit in dreams or visions. And they suspect that their helper parts weren’t actually dissociated parts at all, but—are you ready for this?—helping spirits or angels.”

“Well, they wouldn’t… Hm.”

“What?” Sam asked. Clearly Cas knew something.

“I was going to say that angels would never take a vessel occupied by someone who was damaged by trauma in this way. We could never get full consent. But those who are less…scrupulous could take the consent of a single alter as enough. They wouldn’t stick around as helpers, though. However…” Cas stood and came over to the table, reclaiming his seat across from Sam. “There is an entire class of angels who were created to be guides and helpers. It’s not part of my training. I’m just a soldier. But they…they could do this. It would be like dream walking, only while awake.”

“You have any way of contacting any of them?” Sam asked, holding out hope.

“No. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t really have any contact with them. All of my contacts have been connected to Heaven’s defense.”

“Okay, well…” Sam thought about everything he’d read and what Cas had said. “It sounds like the key to fixing this is getting the parts to communicate with each other. If there’s really this distance between them, and they don’t even know about each other or what’s happening, maybe instead of trying to get them to meet each other in a hallway or common area in his mind, maybe having something out here. You know, physical.”

Cas tilted his head while looking like he was trying hard to understand. “You’re talking about a sort of communal messaging center?”

“I…I was thinking of a bulletin board. Something he could see right away.”

“Of course. Laundromats have those.”

“What?” That seemed like a nonsequitur but it must somehow make sense to Cas. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll go see what we have, if there’s some cork board or something we can use. And push pins. The Men of Letters were big on office supplies, so maybe there’s something here.”

“What do you want me to do?” Cas asked.

“Um…maybe find some index cards or note paper? Something he could write messages on?”

“I will look.”

Sam checked his watch. Dean had been asleep for about ninety minutes now. “Maybe check on Dean first, make sure he’ll stay asleep for another half-hour or so?”

“Of course, Sam.” Cas nodded once and left the room.

Sam let out a long sigh. There was no question that Dean could benefit from therapy, but this was not at all what he’d envisioned. He had to believe that they could find Dean’s helping part—and what are they going to do if they find out his helping part is _another_ angel?—and get Dean put back together again.


	7. Chapter 7

When Castiel entered Dean’s room, he was surprised to find Dean sitting on his bed, writing something on a piece of paper. There was no way Dean could have overheard their conversation about the bulletin board through his closed door.

“Dean?” Castiel immediately recognized the child when Dean looked up.

“You’re back! I drew you a picture.” Leaping off the bed like a small child would, Dean held out the paper. “I don’t know where my crayons are but I found a pencil. I couldn’t make the blue on your wings so I just made them lighter.”

“That’s…” Castiel took the offered paper, unable to find words. “I… Thank you. No one has ever drawn me a picture before.” It was quite a good likeness, considering it came from a four-year-old part using hands that had been through some thirty-three years of hunting monsters.

Dean hopped back onto the bed and bounced a few times. “How come?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, holding the drawing carefully. It felt like a treasure. If Sam was right, and this part held Dean’s innocence, and this part _wanted_ to draw a picture? Not only _for_ him but _of_ him?

“If you find my crayons, I can draw you more.”

“I will make certain you get crayons, Dean.” Another thought struck him. “Where did you get the paper?”

Dean pointed at the desk. “In there. There’s a bunch.”

Castiel set the drawing down on the desk and found nearly an entire ream of paper in the second drawer he opened. He grabbed a large handful of pages and set them on the desk in front of some old pens, then turned back to Dean. “Why did you come out of your room?”

“I…” Dean looked down and chewed his lips. “You said…” he started in a small voice. “You said if I wanted to see you again, to come out of my room.” He shrugged his shoulders, holding them high for a long moment. “I just wanted to see you again.”

“Oh.”

“Was that a bad thing?”

“No,” Castiel said slowly. “No, not at all. What happened when you came out of your room? Did you see or hear anyone? Or any other rooms?”

Dean shook his head emphatically. “Nobody. And when I opened my door, everything looked kinda gray and fuzzy. And then when I got closer to it, it was like I just sorta squeezed through it and then I was here.”

“The grayness outside your door didn’t frighten you?” Castiel asked.

“Nuh uh. ‘Cause I knew you’d be here.”

Castiel let out a quick breath. “You _do_ have faith, don’t you?” he said softly to no one. It was just buried in a four-year-old child who hadn’t yet experienced death and abandonment and too many losses to bear. “I’m glad to see you too,” he added in a normal voice.

“Can I have a hug?” Dean asked from the bed.

“You want a—?” Castiel tried to make sense of that. Of course. Children thrive on human touch and interaction. “Yes, you can have a hug.”

Dean jumped off the bed again and ran over, putting his arms around Castiel’s waist. Which proved to be a little awkward, considering that Dean—or Dean’s body—was slightly taller. Still, he embraced Dean carefully, forcing himself to think of Dean as a child, not as the adult who had kissed him only hours earlier.

And that was another problem. What if _this_ Dean came out to see Castiel when the part that was in love with him was trying to do…other things? That could not be allowed to happen. Castiel cursed the situation. Even when nothing was stopping the adult Dean from demonstrating his love, Castiel would have to prevent it for fear of harming this innocent child part.

Castiel sighed and allowed himself to relax into the hug. A hug of at least twenty seconds would prompt the production of oxytocin in the brain’s hypothalamus and release it through the pituitary gland, producing feelings of happiness, reducing anxiety and pain, and promoting healing. And since he knew this Dean could see and feel them, he wrapped his wings around him too.

Almost instantly, Dean hugged tighter. “I love you, Cas,” he said in his child-like voice.

“I love you too, Dean.”

Dean leaned back without letting go and added, “I love that you love me too. ‘Cause you’re an angel and you’re perfect and I’m just a kid.”

“I’m far from perfect. And you’re more than just a kid.”

“You’re an angel,” Dean repeated, snuggling back into the hug. “And you love me and that makes everything okay.”

“Hey Cas, I found—”

Castiel quickly pulled his wings back and broke the hug to see Sam standing in the doorway.

“Sorry, man,” Sam said, trying to hold up a hand while his arms were loaded with supplies. “I didn’t realize…”

“Dean drew me a picture,” Castiel broke in, picking it up and holding it for Sam to see. To see that it was clearly a drawing by a child.

“Oh, he… Yeah. He did. Nice job, Dean. You’re really good at that.”

“I can do better with crayons,” Dean said. “Do you know where my crayons are?”

“I don’t, but I’ll get you some new ones.” Sam set the supplies down on the couch.

“Are those for me?” Dean asked.

“Yeah…” Sam looked toward Castiel questioningly, and Castiel was fairly certain why. They were originally going to propose the bulletin board to ‘Tween Dean,’ as Sam had nicknamed him. Should they instead pitch the idea to this child part?

This child part had already put a lot of faith in him. Castiel decided to return the favor. “They are, Dean. Do you want to hear what we have planned? It will allow you to draw and write.”

Dean made a face. “I can’t write so good. But I like drawing pictures.”

“Good. Well… Sam, do you want to explain it?”

“Okay.” Sam huffed a breath. “So, you know how you have a bedroom and every time you come out of it, you wind up here?”

Dean nodded.

“Well, we think that there are other bedrooms there. Wherever your bedroom is. And there’s other people that need help. And… And if you…draw something…maybe about yourself? Or maybe that drawing of Cas? Then when the others see it, they can write or draw something too.”

“But my bedroom is in my house. With my mom and dad.”

“Right. But… Uh…” Sam shot Castiel a helpless look.

“The grayness outside your door?” Castiel began. “We think that it’s hiding some other bedrooms. They’re not in your house with your mom and dad. At least we don’t think so. We think it’s kind of like…”

“Where unicorns and fairies live?” Dean suggested.

Sam looked surprised. “How do you know—?”

“Mom reads me stories. Like _Peter Pan_.”

“Oh. Oh!” Sam grinned. “Yeah, so like where unicorns and fairies live. You can’t see them unless they want you to.”

“How are they gonna see what I draw?” Dean asked.

“Um… Cas?”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Castiel said. “You let us take care of making sure they see whatever you want to draw. And we’ll hang up this picture you drew first.”

“Okay.” Dean yawned and climbed back onto the bed.

Castiel had another thought. If there really was minimal awareness from the other parts, perhaps there was an easier way to call them forward. “If the twelve-and-a-half-year-old can hear me, I’d like to talk to him now.”

Again, the change seemed obvious. “I looked like you said,” Dean reported, “but nothing. Nada. Zilch. Just a gray sort of mist.”

“We have an idea, Dean.” Castiel told him about the bulletin board, which Sam was assembling, propped up on the back of Dean’s desk. The whole desk had become something of an art station, with pencils, pens, paper, and a container holding little pins with colored balls on one end.

“So I, like, leave a note, and then when I come back, then there’s a note from someone else?” Dean asked. He got off the bed and started inspecting the bulletin board.

“That’s the idea, yeah,” Sam said.

“But how are they gonna see it? How are they gonna get in here?”

Sam finished pinning the drawing that the child Dean had made onto the bulletin board and looked at him. “Let us worry about that. Do you want to write something? Or draw something?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I can’t draw worth shit. But yeah, I s’pose I could write something.” He sat down at the desk and picked up a pen and paper. “Don’t read over my shoulder, ‘kay?”

“Of course not, Dean,” Castiel said. He noticed that Sam was looking tired. “Sam, you should eat something.”

“You want me to fix something?” Dean asked.

“Nah, I’ll heat something up,” Sam said. “Cas, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

Castiel followed Sam to the kitchen where Sam went about fixing a salad.

Finally Sam asked, “Dean—none of the Deans—still doesn’t get that these parts, these _alters_ , are inside him. He doesn’t get that they’re all taking turns with his body. How are we going to break that to him? I don’t think any of the parts we’ve seen so far are going to take that well.”

Castiel sat down at the kitchen table. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ve been thinking about that as well. I was hoping that one of them would be able to hear or see the others. That would make it much easier. But it seems they are all unaware of each other. And we’re not any farther along in finding this helping part. I think that’s where we need to start. I did have some success by simply asking for the twelve-and-a-half-year-old, rather than calling out that you needed help. Perhaps there’s a way to call for this helping part?”

“Yeah, I like that idea,” Sam said, sitting across from him with his salad and pieces of fish mixed in. “We can try that next.”

“ _I_ can try that next. You need sleep, Sam. You’re clearly fatigued.”

“I don’t want you trying to call new parts of Dean out without me. Just in case he goes for a gun again. Or worse.” Sam grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “Can you put him to sleep again for the whole night?”

“I might not need to. If we can convince the ‘tween’ to go to sleep, he may stay asleep at least long enough for you to get some rest.”

“Telling an almost-teenager to go to bed.” Sam speared some salad and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s going to go over well.”

“I’m an angel, Sam. I think I can handle a teenager. You finish eating and I will take care of Dean.”

Sam chewed, swallowed, and nodded. “Let me know when you’re ready for help.”

 

Tween Dean was, in fact, still the dominant part and finishing up whatever he was writing when Castiel entered the room.

“So, do I just pin this up?” he asked as he stood up from the desk.

“Yes. Anywhere you like, except for over the picture.”

“Awesome.” Dean picked a spot at the top and in the middle, pinning the paper to the cork board with a hand motion like throwing tiny darts. “Cool drawing. Is that Angel? His wings are the wrong color.”

“I don’t—”

“Right. You’re old. Angel is one of the original X-Men.”

“What?” Castiel was not following this at all. Were X-Men more monsters he wasn’t aware of?

“Dude, you don’t know what X-Men is?”

“No.”

“Comic books, man. You had a deprived childhood, didn’t you?”

“Presumably so.” Castiel tried to regain control of the conversation. “It is time for bed, Dean.”

“Not tired.” Dean sat back down on the bed. “What’s it like to be an agent?”

“I will tell you tomorrow, _after_ you sleep.”

“Still not tired.”

“Still not telling you.”

“Well,” Dean said with a shrug, “we gonna have a stare-down or something?”

“I will win.”

“Right, old man. You’ll probably fall asleep before I even have to blink.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Uh huh.” Dean smirked. “What about an arm wrestle? I win, you tell me what it’s like to be an agent. You win, you can wait until tomorrow to tell me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dean. And those are unfair terms. Either way, you get what you want.”

“Well, yeah. That’s how it works.”

“That is _not_ how it works. I’m the adult here and you are twelve.”

“And a half.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Were all teenagers this argumentative? Is this really what Dean had been like? “I am telling you that you need to sleep. And Sam needs to sleep. And we will talk more in the morning.”

“Of course Sammy needs to sleep. Kid should already be in bed. But Dad said I gotta keep an eye on him.” Dean winked. “Hard to do that when I’m asleep too.”

“Dean…”

“Agent…”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel clenched his teeth and tried to think of what options he had left. “If you go to sleep now, I will get you a piece of pie.”

“Arm wrestle for it?”

“ _No_. Go to bed.”

“Hey, you’re not my dad. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Sam strolled in the room. “Ready for help yet, Cas?”

“I’m _fine_ , Sam. Dean just needs to obey.”

Dean made a face at him and turned to Sam. “How come you’re up, Sammy? Nightmares again?”

“Dean, I can’t sleep with you and Cas arguing. So go to sleep.”

“Not tired,” Dean repeated.

“Remember when Cas sent you back to your room with a touch to the forehead?” Sam asked.

“Yeah…”

“Here’s your choice: go to bed now and let me sleep, or Cas will put you to sleep whether you want it or not.”

“Not fair, Sammy,” Dean said with a pout that Castiel found highly amusing.

“Your choice. Count of three or I make the choice for you.”

“Jeez, you sound like Mom did. Fine, I’ll go to bed.” He crawled under the covers, fully dressed, and settled himself in. “No fun staying up with you anyway.”

Sam motioned for Castiel to follow him out, turning off the light and closing the door as they left.

“How did you do that?” Castiel asked, unclear on why Sam’s younger authority worked over his own.

“I _was_ a teenager, Cas. You weren’t.”

“Oh. Well… Sleep well, Sam.”

“Yeah. I’ll try. You’ll make sure he doesn’t run around unsupervised?”

“I’ll watch over him,” Castiel said. “Always.”


	8. Chapter 8

An unpleasant sound woke Sam from a deep sleep, scattering whatever dreams he barely remembered. He yanked the pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep, but the sound continued. After an interminably long time, it finally stopped, only to start again a few moments later. Groaning, he sat up and began searching for the source. Ah. Phone. Caller ID simply said, MOM.

He swiped to answer. “Mom?”

“Sam? Honey? I’m outside your door. Can you let me in?”

Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Sam replied, “Uh…yeah. Sure. Hang on a minute.” He tossed the phone back on his nightstand, stood and stretched, then opened his door. “Mom?” The hallway was empty.

Wait. Not _his_ door. The bunker door. Of course.

He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair, checked that his t-shirt and sleep pants didn’t look too disgusting, and made his way to the war room and the front door. Neither Cas nor Dean were around. Probably in Dean’s room, and hopefully Dean was still sleeping.

 _Shit_. Mom couldn’t see Dean in his condition. He was going to have to find out what she wanted and encourage her to leave. Quickly.

He cringed with the squeaking of the door as it opened and he motioned his mom in, then stuck his head out to make sure no one else was hanging out around the entrance. All clear. “Hey Mom.”

“I’m sorry to come without arranging it first,” Mary said as they headed down the stairs. “I know I’m not really welcome here anymore.”

“No, Mom, you’re always welcome here.” Sam gestured into the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee.”

“Thank you.” Mary sat at the kitchen table and watched him.

Sam dumped out a previous day’s used filter, added a new one, scooped in coffee grounds, poured water into the tank, and pushed the power button before he spoke again. “So, what does bring you here so early?”

“Is Dean awake? And Castiel? Is he here? I really need to talk to them too.”

“Um…” Sam grimaced. “Yeah, Dean hasn’t been feeling too well. Think maybe he’s coming down with something and it might be, you know, contagious. You definitely don’t want to catch it. But I can find Cas for you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Mary assured him. “I’ve got a pretty good immune system. Maybe something to do with being brought back. This won’t take long and then he can go back to bed. And I’ll make some chicken soup before I go.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Would you go get them, Sam? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Dean would want to know.”

“I’ll…go check. Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be back in a bit.” Sam left his mom in the kitchen and headed back toward the bedrooms, hoping to find and talk to Cas. Maybe he had an idea of how to make this work.

He knocked on Dean’s door, just in case Dean wasn’t sleeping, and the unwanted thought that if Dean _wasn’t_ sleeping and Cas was in there with him might mean that— Nope. Not going there. No answer from his knock, so he opened the door while wanting to squeeze his eyes shut.

Dean was in bed, looking like he was asleep. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t moved much at all since Tween Dean was sent to bed. And Cas was… Sam opened the door farther. Cas was on the couch, reading a thick book with an old leather cover. “Hey, Cas.”

“Sam. You’re awake. Is everything okay?”

“Uh… Yeah… Mom’s here. She wants to talk to you and Dean and me.” He shrugged. “She says it’s important. I don’t know what to do about Dean. I mean, she can’t see him like this.”

“Can’t see me like what?” Dean asked groggily from the bed.

Cas set his book down, stood, and went over to the bed. “Dean, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Hungry. I smell coffee.” Dean climbed out of bed and brushed past Cas.

“Dean,” Sam began, unsure what to say or to which Dean he was talking. Or was it possible all the Deans integrated overnight? “What do you want for breakfast?”

Snorting, Dean slapped him lightly on the chest. “Yeah, right, Sam. Like you’re gonna cook for me.”

Sam held his arm out, effectively blocking Dean’s way. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Glaring at him, Dean replied, “You asking me stupid questions in my room. Outta my way, Sammy.”

“Dean, this is important.”

“So’s my bladder. And it’s winning.”

Reluctantly, Sam allowed Dean to pass, then followed him out into the hallway and watched him walk toward the bathroom. “I don’t even know which Dean that was. He just seemed like regular Dean.”

Cas nodded. “I suppose it is possible that the spell ran its course. I assumed that since its intent was to prevent me from returning to this vessel, the effects on Dean would be permanent. But I have been wrong before.”

“Do we take the risk and let him see Mom? Or should I ask him something else?” _How do you tell when your brother is not your brother? Or is only a part of him?_

“Perhaps I can try asking him a question,” Cas offered.

“Something. Before Mom comes back here looking for us.”

It was only a few minutes until Dean came sauntering back through the hallway. “Dean,” Cas began. “Do you remember shooting me?”

“Shooting—?” Dean looked silently from Cas to Sam and back. “No. Why?”

“He’s lying,” Cas said.

“Why would I lie, Cas? If I’m wrong, I’ll admit it.”

“The hunter would ask why I was asking,” Cas said. “Rather than asking what happened or who did it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You already know what happened and who did it.”

“And I’m still not wrong for doing it,” Dean said, pushing his way past Cas toward the front of the bunker. “You comin’, Sam?” he called without looking back.

Sam followed quickly, ready to get between Dean and their mom if Dean reacted badly. Hunter Dean was maybe the best alter to have in control. He’d understand whatever Mom had to say if it was hunting-related.

 

* * *

 

Castiel followed Sam into the kitchen and positioned himself so he could see Dean’s face. He was reasonably certain he could spot changes in Dean quickly, and may be able to render assistance for Sam.

But Dean looked like he had already switched. The caution and hardness that seemed to typify the hunter was absent from his face moments after he stopped cold and said, “Mom?” Instead, Dean seemed to become much more comfortable, his body moving more loosely, confident without being cocky, which was the last thing Castiel expected to see.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean said with what looked like an easy, genuine smile.

“Hi Dean,” Mary answered. “Sam said you weren’t feeling too well.”

Dean looked surprised. “Might’ve been that cold I had. The guys are always bringin’ somethin’ in to work.”

Sam turned to Castiel, concerned, and mouthed silently, _Work?_

Castiel moved closer to Dean, who spotted him moments later.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean said, wrapping one arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Want some coffee?”

“No, I—” _Which Dean was this?_

“I bought honey at the store last week,” Dean continued. “So you don’t have to drink it with sugar anymore.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Castiel’s cheek, then poured himself a cup of coffee. After looking around the kitchen as if he didn’t quite recognize it, Dean added, “I know you wanted to renovate the kitchen, babe, but this is going a little industrial, don’t you think?”

“You know how Cas likes old things,” Sam said with a half-shrug. “Do you have to work today?”

“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “Nah. Day off. Oh!” he snapped his fingers and pointed to Castiel. “I got a call that my ring was fixed. Maybe we can go into town and pick it up today?” He glanced at Castiel’s left hand. “Where’s yours?”

“My—?”

“Wedding ring?” Dean prompted.

Castiel thought quickly. “I chose not to wear it in solidarity with you. When we pick yours up, I will wear mine again.”

Setting his coffee down on the stainless steel island, Dean smiled. “You’re always thinkin’ about my feelings, aren’t you?” He came over, took Castiel’s face in his hands, and kissed him soundly on the lips while Castiel stood there, feeling stunned. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Wait,” Mary said. “You and Castiel are…married?”

“I know, right?” Sam said with an awkward laugh. “Can hardly believe it myself.”

“But…he’s an angel,” Mary said.

“Isn’t he though?” Dean agreed, giving Castiel a longing look. “I thank my lucky stars every day that your old Continental broke down where it did. And that I was working when you brought it into Bobby’s shop. I will _never_ get tired of telling that story.”

“I think I, for one, would like to hear it. Again,” Castiel said. How could this part of Dean have made up an entirely different history for them? Not to mention, this Dean apparently thought Castiel was human?

“Okay,” Mary said, shaking her head. “But not now. I do have something important to tell you. All of you.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. “But I’m starving. You want to share it during or after waffles?” He looked around the kitchen again. “Babe? Where’d you put the waffle iron?” He suddenly perked up when he looked at the metal shelving rack just beyond where Mary was sitting. “Never mind!”

Dean set the waffle iron on the island, then started pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. “You know, Cas, I wasn’t sure about this remodel, but I’m seeing some real potential here to cook for a large group.” He glanced at Sam. “Maybe we could have the whole family over? You and Jess and the kids, Mom and Dad, Bobby and Ellen and Jo? And I’ll invite Benny and Charlie from work.”

Sam’s entire posture changed. He looked defeated. Lost. “Dean. You need to stop. Let’s hear what Mom has to say.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry, Mom. You talk. I’ll just be over here…waffling.” He laughed at his own joke, clearly having no idea how much grief he’d just resurrected.

“Sam. Castiel,” Mary said. “Please sit down. It’s uncomfortable being the only one sitting.”

They sat while Castiel continued to keep an eye on Dean. He seemed…happy. Content. Completely open and comfortable about having a relationship with Castiel—being _married_ to him—and yet the only way Dean had accomplished this was to build an entirely new, entirely fictional world where nobody he loved had died. Did his actual life really cause him _this_ much pain?

“Castiel,” Mary said, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I am…”

“Distracted by Dean. I know. You’ll have to tell me sometime about getting married.” Mary was making an effort to sound neutral, but Castiel could hear the hurt underneath it. “Was there a wedding? Was it before I was brought back? Or… Or did Dean not want to invite me after I left?”

“It’s…complicated,” Castiel answered truthfully.

“I’m sure. Well, anyway, what I really need to say concerns you most of all.”

“Me?” Castiel asked.

“I’ve been talking a little bit with Mick Davies. To find out what the British Men of Letters might be able to offer, how they can help us.”

“How they can _help_?” Sam said, anger plain on his face.

“Mick assures me that the woman who hurt you had gone rogue.”

“She did more than _hurt_ me, Mom.”

“I know, honey. And she’s out of the picture now. They have a lot to offer. Resources we don’t have. But they don’t like that you’re working with Castiel. Or that he’s working with you.” She looked at Castiel and he could sense both her genuineness and her concern. “They don’t know you. And…I realize I don’t either. I think they’re scared of you, of what you can do. And I overheard a conversation last night while I was on the phone with Mick, something about that they already tried to remove you? And they were going to try again.”

“Yes…” Castiel said, unsure how much to tell her. “There was an attempt. It was unsuccessful. Obviously. But we have met this person before and if they try again, we’ll be prepared.”

“And if they send someone else? They have someone who does their dirty work for them.”

“Yeah,” Sam broke in. “We’ve met. He’s not getting his hands on Cas either.”

“He was quite rude,” Castiel added. “He called me ‘halo.’ Not only was it rude, it’s completely inaccurate.”

“Angels don’t have halos?” Mary asked.

“Not the way humans have been expressing it. Angels are multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent.” At Mary’s confused look, he opted for a simpler explanation. “My true form is a great deal of energy and light that vibrates in more than three dimensions and far faster than can be contained by the average human body. This is why we cannot take just _any_ vessel, but one that can withstand our vibrations, even if we slow them down considerably. Inevitably, however, some can still show. Leak out, if you will. It can be perceived by humans as light. Ergo, a halo.”

Mary stared at him silently for a few moments before saying, “You amaze me.”

“He amazes everyone,” Dean said, carrying a plate of steaming waffles and setting it down on the table. “But me most of all.” He turned Castiel’s face to meet his and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. “Maple syrup or honey…honey?” he asked with a wink.

“I’ll get both,” Sam said as he jumped up from the table. “And plates. You guys can…do your thing.”

Castiel stared after Sam, who seemed eager to leave the table, even for a few moments. “He seems…”

“Mmm…” Dean sat down close to him, their thighs not only touching but Dean’s almost on top of his. “Don’t care, babe.” Dean kissed him again, then brought one hand up to run his fingers through the hair at the back of Castiel’s head, scratching lightly at his scalp and pulling him even closer.

Dean’s tongue probed at his lips, and when Castiel opened his mouth, Dean dove in, running his tongue over Castiel’s teeth and tongue and the roof of his mouth. Dean tilted his head and managed to deepen the kiss farther, groaning into while pressing his entire body into Castiel’s.

Tingles of pleasure raced across Castiel’s skin, followed by a flash of heat and the unmistakable musk of Dean’s scent as Castiel melted into the kiss, the embrace, chasing every point of contact between them until—

“Ahem.” Mary cleared her throat. “I’m still here, boys.”

Dean pulled away slowly, his lips swollen and red and looking so very kissable, and Castiel reluctantly let him go. How a human being could be so beautiful was beyond his ability to comprehend.

“You guys, uh… done?” Sam asked from the other side of the island. “Safe to come out now?”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. You gonna tell me you and Je—”

Castiel cut off the name with another kiss, then nipped at Dean’s lip. “Less talking. More eating.”

After distributing plates and setting the syrup down, Sam sat across from Castiel, whispering, “Thank you.”

Curious to find out more about this part of Dean and the reality he’d created, Castiel asked, “I don’t remember, Dean, do I need to work tomorrow?”

Dean shrugged as he doused his waffles in syrup. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t.”

“And I go to work at…where, again?”

“Cas, man, you need more sleep. I know this promotion is new, but you’re still at the hospital.”

“I’m a doctor?” Castiel asked.

Dean stuffed a piece of waffle in his mouth and pointed his fork at Castiel. “Surgeon,” he said around his food. “Stop selling yourself short.”

“So you work in Bobby’s shop…on cars…and I’m…a surgeon?”

“Best brain surgeon in Kansas City.”

“Which one of you proposed?” Sam asked, shooting Castiel a look that said he understood what Castiel was trying to do. “I mean, Mom probably wants to know.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed after swallowing a bite of waffle. “I’d definitely like to know.”

“Cas did,” Dean said. “I was too chickenshit to ask. And I thought he was out of my league.” Dean looked over at Castiel and winked. “Still wonder what I did to deserve you.”

“You’re you,” Castiel said with complete honesty.

“Aww…” Mary looked between them with a fond smile. “I knew there was _something_ between you two, but I didn’t quite see this.”

“Yeah…” Sam laughed. “Me either. Cas, you got this? I’d like to go look a few things up.”

“Certainly, Sam.” Castiel watched Sam leave the kitchen, then returned his attention to Mary. “Was there more you needed to tell us? Or me?”

“No. Well, wasn’t that enough?” Mary picked at what was left of her waffle.

“Yes, of course. I’m…I’m eager to go pick Dean’s ring up.”

“Great!” Dean said. “I’ve been without it too long. That’ll teach me to wear it when I’m replacing an engine in a Ford F-250. Had to tilt that sucker to get it in.”

“When do you find time to work on cars?” Mary asked. “In between hu—?

“Yes,” Castiel interrupted. “You know how Dean is about cars.” He stood, hoping that she might follow his lead. “I am sorry, Mary. I think we need to make our goodbyes.”

Mary got up, and while Castiel couldn’t quite read her emotions, she nodded and gave Dean a hug. “Please don’t shut me out, okay? I’ve missed out on too much. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Castiel chaperoned her through to the war room, where she went over to give Sam a hug as well.

“Don’t be a stranger. I want to know you.” She kissed him on the top of his head and made her way to the stairs and the door. Stopping halfway up the stairs, she made eye contact with Castiel. “I know you take care of them. Take care of yourself too. And watch your back.”

“I will, Mary. Thank you.” He waited until the entry door clicked shut, then went back to the kitchen for Dean, wondering if he’d find the husband or the hunter.


	9. Chapter 9

On the way back to the kitchen, Castiel paused to ask Sam, “Have you found anything?”

Sam looked up from the screen. “Sort of. Give me ten minutes and then let’s try something with Dean.”

Castiel nodded once and returned to the kitchen, where Dean was finishing the last of the waffles. “Do you still want to go into town?” he asked, hoping the answer would tell him which Dean he was talking to.

“Yeah, of course. You wanna help me wash dishes? And explain why, in this kitchen renovation, you didn’t put in a dishwasher?”

Castiel thought fast. “Having an automatic dishwasher would make it less likely that we could share this task together.”

“Yeah, but Cas, we could be doing _other_ things together.” Dean smirked and then winked, and immediately, Castiel felt his vessel respond with nerves firing over the entirety of his skin and a growing tightness in his groin.

In just the past twenty-four hours, Dean had kissed him, embraced him, and nearly climbed on top of him, clearly wanting to do even more. And while Castiel had to be careful not to traumatize the child part, or piss off the hunter, he treasured every touch. Because there was a very good chance that once Dean was put back together, it would be buried as deeply as it had before. It was almost worse this way. Now Castiel knew for a fact how Dean felt—or at least how parts of him felt—and yet he’d never get to have it.

He helped Dean carry the dishes to the small sink behind the table, then watched Dean fill the sink with hot, soapy water.

“Babe, I know you’ve got this whole industrial vibe going on, but why this?” Dean pointed to a sign above the sink that read: no food waste in drains. use sealed bins to dispose of all materials. no chemical waste permitted. close valve after using. “Did you find this at a flea market or something?”

“I…” _There were markets that sold fleas?_ “I appreciate authenticity.”

“I love that about you.” Dean leaned over and kissed him. “You live your life as who you are. Never trying to change for someone else.”

Castiel sighed. _Oh, the irony_. “Thank you, Dean.”

 

Halfway through the breakfast dishes, Sam walked in. Wordlessly, he picked up a dish towel and helped to dry the dishes and stack them on the shelf above the sink.

The last of the dishes done, Dean drained the sink. “Hey, Sammy, not to be a dick or anything, but me and Cas are gonna head out in a few. You’ll probably wanna get home, yeah?”

“Home would be nice,” Sam said. “But before you go pick up your ring, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Dean dried his hands and sat down at the table.

Sam sat opposite him and Castiel opted to remain standing, watching them both.

“This may not make sense to you, but I need you to just listen,” Sam began. At Dean’s nod, he continued. “I need to speak to the helper part. The part of Dean that helps the others. If there’s a part who can hear me now, who counsels all those inside, I really need to speak to you. It’s important, and I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of everyone in the system.”

“Sam?” Dean asked. “You okay? ‘Cause this—” he motioned between them, “is a little weird.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But it’s really important. It’s vital to the safety of the entire system that I speak to the helper or internal counselor or advisor part. You can talk to me, you can talk to Cas, but it’s important that you come out and talk to one of us.” Sam sighed. “Please.”

Dean snorted, and Castiel could tell that this was not the husband part anymore. He was angry; that much was clear, waves of rage radiating out from him. “Helper part?” He stood abruptly, leaned over the table and stuck his finger in Sam’s face. “The last thing I need from you is _help_.”

“Dean, all we’re trying to do is help,” Sam said, standing up cautiously. “We care for you. We love you.”

“And what has that ever gotten anyone?” Dean snarled. “You know what love is? It’s pain. It rips your heart out and eats it in front of you. Give in to the pain, Sammy,” Dean said, walking slowly around the table toward him. “It’s all there is. It’s all there ever will be.”

Sam backed up, keeping his hands at waist-level. “No, Dean. It’s not. We can help you.”

With a roar, Dean grabbed one of the clean plates from the shelf behind him and threw it at Sam’s head. Sam ducked just in time, the plate shattering against the wall and raining down on the cart holding the coffee maker. “I don’t want your fucking help, your fucking compassion, or your fucking love!”

Castiel moved quietly behind Dean as he continued his tirade against Sam.

“I gave you a chance, Sam. Gave you several chances, in fact. But you don’t want this.” Dean spread his hands out in front of him. “This? This is _power_ , Sam. _This_ is what changes the world. _This_ is—”

Castiel grabbed Dean’s arms and pinned them behind him, momentarily surprised by the unusual amount of strength Dean had. He adjusted his hold, making it harder for Dean to pull away. Instead, Dean tried to head-butt him, but Castiel neatly side-stepped that and with a leg-swipe, had Dean on the ground. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dean.”

Dean struggled, grunting and bellowing, and Castiel had to keep adjusting his hold, tapping into his grace to keep up with Dean’s strength and flexibility. “I’ll finish you off, Sam,” Dean yelled. “I’ll find that hammer and finish what I started!”

There was a moment of stunned silence as Castiel realized what Dean was talking about. He glanced at Sam, who clearly remembered it as well. The last time—the only time—Dean had come after Sam with a hammer, he’d been a demon.

“Do we need to take him to the dungeon?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied honestly. “He’s not… He can’t be. It’s a part.”

“I’m right here!” Dean shouted. “I swear, I will find my blade and take care of you too, angel.”

 _Wait…_ “Which blade, Dean?”

“You know which one: the only one you can’t fight. Now _let me go_! I’ve got a line waiting and I’m not gonna deny them their due.” Dean struggled more, managing to get one arm free and smashing it with tremendous strength against the side of Castiel’s head.

Momentarily dazed, Castiel lost hold of Dean, who jumped to his feet and ran toward the bedrooms.

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Go after him. Make sure he’s safe. But _be careful_.” Castiel stood, soothing the inflicted headache with a bit of his grace, and checking to make sure he wasn’t too low. It might not be a bad idea to eat something, or sleep while Sam kept watch, if they were going to have to deal with a demon part. His grace was not up for this long-term.

He found Sam in the hallway outside of Dean’s room.

“The door’s locked,” Sam said. “Or barricaded. Or both. It sounds like he’s been destroying things in there.” He flinched as something heavy was thrown against the door.

“We’ll wait him out,” Castiel suggested. “Anything in there can be replaced.”

“Yeah.” Sam leaned against the wall opposite Dean’s door. “What do you supposed triggered that? My asking to speak to the helper part?”

“It did appear that way,” Castiel said. “And it makes sense that this would be another part.”

“A demon?” Sam asked. Inside the room, Dean let out a powerful yell.

“It’s more than that,” Castiel said. “He referenced the First Blade. And he said he had a line, was going to ‘give them their due.’”

Sam sighed loudly. “His time in Hell.”

“Yes. This part is unnaturally strong. I don’t think it’s truly a demon, nor do I think this part still bears the Mark of Cain. It’s all of these. It’s rage and darkness and endless pain.”

“The Jungian shadow aspect,” Sam said. “The dark side of a personality.”

Castiel nodded. “But this part has actual experience to draw upon.” He paused at the sound of more crashing in Dean’s room. “And if the part that expressed romantic love no longer feels like he has to hold back, this part may not be inhibited by the rest of Dean’s personality either.”

“So he’s dangerous.”

“Extremely.”

“What are we up to now? We have…” Sam laughed shortly, “your _husband_. Man, that was a trip. And now this…demon part. I know it’s not really a demon, but it’s easier to think of that way. That makes, what, seven?”

“Seven,” Castiel confirmed as something else heavy hit one of the walls in Dean’s room and splintered. “Plus this helper part that we haven’t yet met. And any others who haven’t yet surfaced.”

“I don’t understand why this part came out in response to my asking to speak to the helper part.”

“A defense perhaps,” Castiel said. “If this…demon part knows that the helper part could heal him, could put him all back together, then he might wish to remain separate. Integrating with the others would be giving up his power.”

Sam ran his hands through his hair. “Thanks, Cas. For helping. I don’t think I could deal with this alone.”

“No, Sam.” Castiel shook his head. “You owe me no gratitude. That spell was intended for me. Were it not for Dean, I would have had to find a new vessel. I have no idea how long it would take for me to return.”

“Still…” Sam sighed again. “So if asking for the helping part instead brings out the demon part, I don’t know what to do. The research I was doing… I was looking up how to ask for specific parts. And it sounds like in most cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder, the different parts have different names. They’ll usually say what their name is. But all of Dean’s parts are answering to ‘Dean.’ I suppose I could ask…some other part…if they have another name. If they don’t, though, we’re back to square one.”

“It’s worth a try. Finding and communicating with that helping part seems to be the key.”

“Yeah. Does it…?” Sam paused, listening. “Does it seem like it’s awfully quiet in there?”

“Shall we check?” Castiel asked. He was not looking forward to another fight, and yet he was eager to check on Dean’s emotional and physical state, especially after all the sounds of destruction.

Sam pushed himself off the wall. “Let’s do it. You want me to find a key, or—?”

Castiel stepped forward and used a pulse of grace to shift the old mortise lock open.

“Handy,” Sam said with a single nod. “On three? One… Two…”

Castiel opened the door, not waiting for Sam to finish counting.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam was shocked by what he saw.

Dean sat—or sort of laid—on the floor against his mattress, which was tilted up against the broken bedframe. He didn’t look up. The nightstand was under the sink by the door. The couch was upended where the desk had been, and the desk itself was on its back, shoved up under the broken bedframe. Dean’s stereo was on its side on the floor, near a chair with two severed legs. Papers were scattered everywhere, nearly all of them crumpled or torn. The page that Tween Dean had written was in pieces in the sink bowl. Broken pens, pins, and pieces of a shattered vinyl album littered the floor. None of Dean’s weapons were in sight.

“Dean?” Sam began, watching his brother carefully for any sign of aggression.

“Just go away, Sam,” Dean said, his voice ragged.

“I can’t, Dean. I need to know you’re okay.” He glanced at Cas, who returned the look with a nod. “And then we’re going to help you clean up.” He picked up the couch and brought it back over to its place.

“Don’t bother. Leave it like this. It’ll remind me what a fuckup I am.”

“Dean,” Cas said, picking his way across the floor. “Look at me.”

“You might as well leave, Cas. I’m not gonna be here much longer.”

“No, Dean. I’m not leaving you like this. I’m not leaving you at—”

“Hello, boys.”

Sam whirled around to see Crowley standing at the bedroom entrance. “What are you—?”

“Redecorating?” Crowley asked, stepping into the room and sliding some of the detritus out of his way with a shined shoe. “Oh, you might want to consider updating the wards on this place. Bit like leaving the door unlocked, if you ask me.”

“Why are you here?” Sam demanded.

“My BFF here invited me, moose,” Crowley said. “And I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t come in his time of need.”

“He’s not a demon, and he no longer needs you,” Cas said in what sounded more like a growl.

“All due respect, feathers, he’s the one who called me. He’s the only one who can tell me to leave.”

“And how exactly did he call you?” Sam said.

Crowley pulled his phone out of his suit pocket and waved it in front of him. “You don’t believe me? Check his phone. If he lets you.”

“I don’t care,” Dean muttered, digging the phone out of his pocket. He slid it across the floor, not looking at its trajectory. “Not gonna stay anyway.”

Sam picked up the phone and pocketed it. He didn’t need to check to know that what Crowley said was true. The demon part must have called or texted right after leaving the kitchen, full of fury. But _this_ part, _this_ Dean…

“Because you’re coming with me?” Crowley’s tone sounded hopeful.

Dean shook his head, still not making any eye contact. “Because I’m dead. Shoulda stayed that way.”

“Being dead’s not all bad,” Crowley countered. “Has a few perks, even. Come on, what do you say? You, me, a few drinks?”

“He is _not_ going with you,” Cas said, taking a menacing step toward Crowley.

“Dean can make his own decisions, Castiel. Don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

Abruptly, Dean seemed to shrink a little, but also his entire demeanor shifted, becoming light and curious instead of oppressive and dark. Sam saw the switch before the other two seemed aware of it.

“Crowley,” Sam said, hoping to distract him, “how about a drink while Dean gets ready?”

“You can see his feathers too?” Dean sat up and looked at Crowley with wonder. “And what’s wrong with your face?”

Crowley stared at Dean for several long moments before he smiled broadly and glanced at Sam. “Afraid I’m going to have to pass on that drink. This is _far_ more interesting.” He returned his gaze to Dean. “I can. How is it _you_ can?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I think maybe because my mom says angels watch over me and Cas says he watches over me and he says he loves me so maybe because he’s my angel I can see his wings.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” Crowley said, trying to hold back laughter. “How old are you, my little one?”

“Four.”

“I see. You sound like you might even be five already.”

Dean grinned, looking pleased with the compliment.

“And you don’t remember calling me, I’m sure.”

“Nuh uh. What happened to your face?”

“Quite a lot, my child. Quite a lot.” He looked between Sam and Cas. “Your squirrel seems to be in pieces. How did you manage that?”

“Your mother,” Sam spat out. “She went after Cas and got Dean instead.”

“She is working for the British Men of Letters,” Cas added. “And tried to evict me from my vessel with a spell that I wasn’t aware existed anymore. Not since the Middle Ages. Dean intervened and took the brunt of it.”

“Dear old mum. You know, of course, she’ll try again. She’s adamant that her one and only failure is me.”

“We’ve been warned,” Sam said. “Do you think she’d know how to reverse it?”

“I’ve no idea,” Crowley said. “ _I_ certainly don’t. Although,” he looked at Dean with some combination of humor and pity, “this could be quite entertaining for a while.”

“Would you ask her?” Sam asked. If Rowena could reverse it, without harming Cas, they could go back to helping _other_ people.

“I could,” Crowley said with a frown, considering the question. “But if she’s working with the Brits, then there’s greater risk to me, is there not? I’d require sufficient compensation.”

“Which is?” Sam asked.

Crowley was silent for a moment. “Twenty-four consecutive hours, one full day and night without interruption, with the version of Dean who called me here.”

“No,” Cas growled. “I forbid it.”

“I’d rather hear from Dean.”

“Is there another Dean?” Dean asked. “’Cause I just came out of my bedroom to see Cas.”

“Oh, you would be surprised,” Crowley said.

“Crowley…” Cas warned.

“Yes, well, good luck with this one,” Crowley said, backing out of Dean’s room and chuckling. “Call me if you want a date, Dean. Offer’s still open.” With a grin on his face, he disappeared.

After a long silence, Dean asked, “What happened to the room?” He looked around, spotted something, picked it up, and burst into tears.

“Dean,” Cas said, crouching down next to him. “What is it?”

Sobbing, Dean held up a torn piece of paper. Sam could see it had once been part of a drawing, and his stomach sank. It was the drawing that the child part had made of Cas.

“I’m going to get you some crayons,” Sam said, hoping to be consoling. “And you can make a new one with all the colors you want. As soon as I clean up the room, I’ll go get them.”

Dean nodded but continued to cry.

“Dean,” Cas said softly. “I think I can help. Can you find all the other pieces while Sam and I clean up the room?”

Nodding again, Dean sniffled, rubbed his nose on his sleeve, and started looking for more pieces. Cas stood up and with a nod, helped set the room straight again. It didn’t take quite as long as Sam thought it might, and the few pieces of broken furniture could be fixed easily enough. The bed hadn’t broken so much as it had simply come apart, and he reattached the frame rails and settled the mattress back on it. He found all the missing weapons stockpiled behind the bed and put them in his own room for now. A quick check online showed that eBay had the album Dean had destroyed, so Sam clicked the buy it now button and arranged for delivery to one of their PO boxes.

“These are all of them, I think,” Dean said, holding out a bunch of torn pieces. He sniffled again.

While Sam put the bulletin board back together and situated it back on the desk, Cas helped Dean arrange the pieces like a puzzle on top of the bed until the picture was complete.

“Watch,” Cas said softly as he kneeled next to the bed. Sam stopped and watched with Dean as Cas’ finger traced along the torn seams, the fibers of the paper weaving themselves back together. The pencil marks were still obscured where the tears had been, but the paper was whole again.

Dean seemed near to tears again. Sniffling, he grabbed Cas in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Cas said. “You’re the one who drew the picture.”

“I still want to make one with color.”

“You will,” Sam said. “I’ll have crayons for you before dinner.”

Cas stood and then sat on the bed. Sam waited, anxious to see if the repairs he made to the bed frame held. He let out a relieved sigh when it did.

“Dean,” Cas said, “do know anything about a helper? Someone who helps you? Maybe someone you talk to when you’re afraid or hurting?”

Dean thought for a moment, then shook his head. But as he did, his features changed again. Although still young, fear was clear on his face, and he nervously looked around the room. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam said, raising his hands in front of him to demonstrate that he meant no harm.

Diving for his pillow, Dean felt under it, and finding nothing, scrambled for the nightstand drawer.

“We’re here to help,” Cas said, gently putting his hand over the nightstand drawer to keep it from opening.

“You’re—? Help?” Dean asked. “You heard me?” He looked between Sam and Cas.

“Heard you?” Sam repeated.

“I… I didn’t know what else to do. It’s probably stupid. But…” Dean shrugged. “I prayed.”

Sam caught the immediate look Cas gave him. This appeared to be news to Cas as well, which Sam found odd. He figured they had a _profound bond_ or whatever, which might have gone back before Dean’s resurrection from Hell.

“We can’t always answer right away,” Cas said, his voice sounding rough. “And it might not be the answer you want. But we hear you.”

“You too?” Dean asked, looking at Sam.

“I’m not an—” Sam stopped and shook his head. “Yeah. I’ve heard you for years. Helped whenever I could.”

“I just wanted out, you know?” Dean said. “I didn’t know how to do it anymore. My little brother needed me and Dad was gone a lot of the time, and the motels were scary. And when he did come back, he drank a lot and yelled a lot and I couldn’t let him hurt Sammy.” Tears started falling down his cheeks. “I was supposed to take care of him. So I couldn’t leave. We didn’t have any money and Dad was mad all the time and sometimes he… He just got mad.”

Sam felt his stomach tied in knots. He had no real memory of that time, beyond Dean always being there for him, making sure he ate and slept and got to school. “He hit you?” he asked, not wanting to know the answer.

After a pause, Dean nodded. “But it was better than when he was gone. ‘Cause I knew about the monsters and I was scared they’d get him and he’d never come back. And then me and Sammy really would be alone. I didn’t know what I would have to do to get money. I already did some stuff I didn’t like.”

Sam swallowed around a lump in his throat. “You did so much, Dean.”

“So…you can help?”

“We’re trying,” Sam said. “You hungry? You probably don’t have much to eat in the motel room.”

“Starving,” Dean said, looking hopeful for the first time. “You got any Lucky Charms? They’re my favorite.”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed out a short laugh. “Me too. I don’t have any, but I need to pick up a few things, so…” He glanced at Cas. “How about Cas stays here with you and I’ll do a quick grocery run. Get a few boxes.”

Cas nodded. “I can do that.” He looked at Dean. “I would like very much to hear about what you prayed for.”


	11. Chapter 11

After Sam left, Castiel sat down on the green couch again. “Do you want to sit here,” he motioned to the couch, “or on the bed?” The younger child would have easily chosen the couch. This somewhat older child, maybe nine or ten years old, might prefer the physical distance.

“The bed, I guess,” Dean said, sitting on the foot of the bed and crossing his legs. “What do you want to know?”

“I just want to hear what you prayed for, and if you think you got any response before now.”

“Well… Mostly I just wanted help, you know? Someone to tell me what to do. I mean, I could make a lot of decisions on my own, but it just would’ve helped to have someone older. More experience. I don’t know.”

“You needed a parent,” Castiel said.

“I had parents. But monsters took them both in different ways. Someday I’m gonna make sure there are no more monsters in the world. No one else will have to feel like me.”

“An admirable goal, Dean. Did you pray to anyone in particular?”

“No. It’s not like I had a name or anything. I don’t even know if I believe in God. Religion says he’s supposed to be loving, but then how could he allow monsters in the world? How could he let my mom die like that?”

Castiel felt those same doubts rise again. “You can love someone and still not intervene when bad things happen. I’m not a parent, but I can imagine that’s part of letting them grow up. Making their own choices, both good and bad.”

“But I’m not grown up yet. I have to be, for Sammy. But I’m not.” The child’s words were both amusing and heartbreaking coming from an adult’s body.

“I’ll help any way I can,” Castiel said.

“And you’re an angel?”

“I was.” At Dean’s confused look, Castiel added, “Yes, I am.”

“And the other one with you? Who went to get Lucky Charms?”

“He works with me,” Castiel said. “His name is Sam too.”

At that, Dean looked around the room, his anxiety obviously increasing along with his heart rate and respiration. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Sammy is.”

“Sam is looking after him. I promise. And you’re in a very safe place.”

Dean let out a long breath. “Okay.” After a long pause, he said, “My mom used to say angels were watching over me, but then she died and nothing stopped it from happening and my dad says there’s no such thing as angels. Just monsters.”

“We don’t usually like to make ourselves known,” Castiel answered honestly. “We have…assignments. Public knowledge of our presence would often hinder that.”

“Is that why you’re here? An assignment?”

“It started out that way, yes. After that… Well, I chose to stay.”

“To help me? Are you here ’cause of my prayers?”

Castiel sorted through all the possible ways he could answer this, finally settling on the one he constantly strove to achieve. “I will always come when you call, Dean.” He paused. “That reminds me. Have you ever been known by another name? Or wanted to be called another name?”

“No. Why would I? I’ve always been Dean.”

“I needed to ask. Let’s go to the kitchen and get ready to eat.”

He led the way out of Dean’s bedroom and down the hall, then felt a hand take his. Castiel was so certain he was really talking to a nine- or ten-year-old that when he looked over at Dean, what he saw first was Dean’s waist. It was a little jarring, knowing that this was undoubtedly a child, but in an adult’s body. He was used to seeing angels in vessels, being able to discern both their true form and the vessel’s appearance, but seeing a human—especially one he cared for so deeply—with a mind so fractured and yet unaware of it, brought out a protective side of himself that he hadn’t quite known existed.

It wasn’t long after they sat down in the kitchen that Sam returned, looking victorious, as if he’d singlehandedly killed a dozen demons rather than found Lucky Charms and crayons.

Sam poured Dean a bowl of Lucky Charms, brought him milk and a glass, and hesitated before joining Castiel at the doorway. “You find out anything more?”

Castiel watched as Dean shoveled cereal into his mouth and then motioned Sam toward the war room. “Only that our working theory is likely correct. These fractures are along lines of trauma. Each part of Dean has taken on some overwhelming fear or pain that the others are unaware of. The youngest child is the only one who seems to have no trauma. And this Dean only knows himself as Dean.”

Sam shook his head slowly. “Yeah, all the trauma started when I was born.”

“No, Sam. All the trauma started with Azazel. You are not to blame.”

Looking away, Sam seemed to struggle with that before finally accepting it. “So what do we do? None of the parts know about each other. We ask for a helper part and get an angry demon part or another child. He’s already shot you once, and although I confiscated his weapons, he may have more. Either Crowley or Rowena could come back at any time. And that kid in there?” Sam gestured to the kitchen. “He’s the one who gave me _his_ servings of cereal because I liked it so much. I can’t lock that kid up in the dungeon, even if it’s going to keep him safe. Or keep us safe.”

“I agree. I only see one possibility.”

“No, Cas. I know I was the one who suggested it, but after what I’ve seen, you can’t possibly think that one of these Deans needs to kill the others. This isn’t at all like the other parts of me. I didn’t have kid parts. It was three adults. One of them deserved death and the other welcomed it.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about having one Dean kill the others,” Castiel said, imagining the thoughts that Sam must be thinking. “We need to find this helper part, and asking isn’t accomplishing the job. I need to go in there and find him.”

 “You’ll dream walk with him.” Sam said it as a statement.

“It’s the only alternative that I see.”

“Do you have enough grace to do that?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know. If I can, I don’t know how long I can stay.”

“Then I’m coming with you. If you’re in there, that angry demon part isn’t going to just switch out when another part comes along like out here. He’ll be gunning for you full-time. And he’ll know the territory, whatever it is.”

“I need you out here, Sam. I don’t know how the dream root will affect all the parts and their control over his body. If one of the parts takes control, I need someone here to keep him safe. I don’t know how long this will take.”

“And what about your safety, Cas?”

“If I find the helper part quickly enough, it won’t be an issue.”

“If you don’t?”

“Then I will try my best not to hurt him.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel left Sam to mix the dream root and went back to the kitchen for Dean, who was drinking sugary milk out of the cereal bowl. He picked up the cereal box to put it away, only to discover it was empty.

“I came out to see you,” Dean said in the youngest child’s voice, “and the cereal was here and Mom never lets me have the good kind and I thought it was okay. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Dean. The cereal was for you. Sam is making something for you to drink, but it doesn’t taste very good, I’m told.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s like medicine. It’s going to help me help you.”

“How come angel medicine doesn’t taste good?”

“Because most angels have very poor taste. Will you drink it?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess.”

“Good. Let’s get you to your room. This is going to make you sleepy.”

 

* * *

 

Dean’s four-year-old self made some quite amusing facial expressions while choking down the dream root, and was instantly asleep. After Sam removed Dean’s boots, Castiel lay down carefully next to him on the bed and closed his eyes, easing into the meditative state that would allow him to enter Dean’s dreams. Or in this case, with any luck, his fractured internal landscape.

Where he found himself, however, was in a space devoid of any shape, texture, or color, save the whirling gray that surrounded him.

“Dean!” he called out. When he heard no answer, he tried again. A small voice seemed to call back from a distance off on his right, and he headed toward it, calling Dean’s name every now and then. After what seemed like quite a few minutes, the whirling gray parted and he was faced with a door. It was unlocked, and he entered, seeing the interior of a two-story house. In the foyer stood a small child, his green eyes wide with awe.

Castiel smiled in recognition. “Hello, Dean.”


	12. Chapter 12

Dean ran up and grabbed Castiel’s hand, then started tugging him toward a set of stairs. “Come see my room!”

Castiel followed, amused by the child’s enthusiasm. Once up the stairs, a hallway stretched in both directions, yet was filled with the same whirling gray he saw outside the house. Dean tugged him to the left.

“Dean,” he said, tugging gently back. “What do you see around us?”

“The hall in my house.” Dean’s voice was muffled as he pointed toward the other end of the hall, on the opposite side of the stairs. “My mom and dad’s room is down there.”

Castiel glanced down the length of the hallways, but beyond the gray whirling, he could see nothing.

“Come on!” Dean tugged harder and Castiel allowed himself to be pulled along.

At the end of the hallway, Castiel spotted light coming from an open door. Just in front of the door was a discolored circle in the wall-to-wall carpeting.

Dean didn’t seem to notice and ran into his room and jumped onto his bed. “I did drawings here too!” He leaped off and ran to a small table with drawings on it. One was similar to his pencil drawing, only in bright colors. Yellow for Castiel’s coat, brown for his hair, ebony black for his wings spread out slightly beside him, and bright blue for his tie and the tips of his feathers.

He picked it up and handed it to Castiel, who took it gently. “Thank you, Dean.” Sadly, he was fairly certain that this drawing only existed within Dean’s mind, and couldn’t be brought into their outside reality.

“Wanna play?” Dean asked.

“I would love nothing more than to play with you,” Castiel said, “but I have some things I need to do as well. I need to find a helper who lives here.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No one here ‘cept me and my mom and dad. And the baby in my mom’s belly. But we can’t see the baby yet.”

“Here’s what I’d like you to do, Dean. Would you draw a picture of what you think the baby will look like? Or maybe a picture of your whole family together? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Castiel handed back the picture of himself. “And keep this safe for me.”

“Okay! I’m gonna put you in the picture of my family ‘cause you’re family too.”

Castiel smiled at him, feeling a rush of compassion and love and sadness. This innocent child, who was so generous with his love, was shortly to suffer unimaginable losses and be asked to give up everything to save the world.

He turned, noting the discolored circle in front of the door again, and stepped out into the gray. Running his hand along the hallway, he found another room with a closed door, then another. Going the length of the hallway on one side, then back along the other, he found a total of eight rooms, all but that of the youngest Dean’s with the doors closed. Each door had the same discolored circle in front of it, which was giving Castiel an idea.

So now the question: was there any order to the bedrooms, or was he going to have to risk meeting up with any of the angry Deans when he knocked on the door?

Before finding out, Castiel decided he needed to tour the rest of the house. If there was a master bedroom, as the four-year-old Dean pointed to, then it likely belonged to one of the adult Deans. But there were no other rooms on the upper floor. Not even a bathroom.

He made his way down the stairs, seeing photographs on the wall. Mary and John’s wedding photo. Family pictures with Dean and Sam. Early elementary school photos of both Winchester boys gave way to photos of things Castiel knew hadn’t actually happened: a 25th wedding anniversary for John and Mary, Dean and Bobby in front of Singer’s Auto Shop, Sam’s and Jess’ wedding, a multi-generational photo of Sam and Dean with their parents and Sam’s and Jess’ kids, and the most unsettling, a photo of himself and Dean in tuxedos, showing off their wedding rings.

There was a good chance that he could see all these photos because he knew a little something about each Dean’s memories. Four-year-old Dean probably couldn’t see most of these photographs, or saw something else in them.

Downstairs contained a kitchen without any actual food, an unused, sterile family room, and a home office with a desk and filing cabinet. The desktop seemed fairly standard: stapler, tape dispenser, lamp, and a thin, rectangular piece of metal that Castiel figured must have some purpose. He checked the desk drawers but found them empty. The filing cabinet contained a total of eight files, each with one page in them. The page listed five pieces of information: name, age, marital status, occupation, and a patient number. Four-year-old Dean was patient number one. Married Dean was patient number eight. Castiel wondered if the patient numbers corresponded to the doors. Perhaps there was a method to it after all. He memorized the numbers with each of the Deans and returned the files to the cabinet, silently thanking Dean’s mind for helping him out.

Returning to the upstairs, Castiel made his way through the whirling gray to the door closest to the youngest Dean. He took a calming breath, readying himself, and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, a little harder. This time, he heard a child’s cautious voice. “Who is it?”

“Castiel,” he answered. “I’m here to help.”

The door opened slowly and the Dean that Castiel had last seen gorging himself on Lucky Charms stood in the doorway. “You’re—” He faltered, then gave a hopeful smile. “You’re here. And…you have wings.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side, momentarily confused by this information. “You can see them?”

“Yeah. They’re… Wow. Awesome.”

“May I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Dean opened the door a little wider and Castiel stepped in.

The room was a large motel room with a kitchenette and square table, as well as a tiny living area complete with coffee table and a 14-inch TV. Two twin beds and a bathroom took up the other half of the space. Both beds had been slept in, but there was no sign of Sam. Or this Dean’s version of Sam as a child. Castiel decided not to ask, in case that caused any anxiety over Sam’s safety.

Dean gestured awkwardly toward the kitchen table. “Um… You want anything to drink? I don’t have a lot.”

“No, thank you Dean,” Castiel said, sitting in one of the dinette chairs. “I just want to talk to you a little bit.”

“So you’re here…like _really_ here…because I prayed? For help?”

There was no easy way to answer that accurately, so Castiel nodded. “Is there a helper who lives here?”

Dean shook his head. “No one but me and Sammy. He’s napping now, so we need to keep it down.”

“I understand,” Castiel said, figuring this Dean must see Sam in the room the same way they wouldn’t see the photos in the stairway or the other rooms in the hall. “No one has come here to talk with you?”

Shrugging, Dean said, “Just you.”

“Have you ever explored downstairs?”

“No. Dad wouldn’t like it. I need to stay here and watch Sammy.”

“Okay.” Castiel sighed and stood. “Be safe until I return.”

Dean stood too. “You’ll come back?”

“Of course, Dean. I’ll always return.”

Castiel left the room, crossed the hall through the whirling gray, and found the next room. Hoping he interpreted the files correctly, he knocked on the door.

“Coming!” The voice was definitely that of Tween Dean, and Castiel felt more hopeful and confident than he had since this started.

Dean opened the door with money in one hand. “One meat-lover’s, one—” He stopped short. “It’s you. I thought it was pizza.”

Castiel tried to make sense of that. “You can order pizza here?”

“When I get the cash, yeah. How are you even here?” He stepped aside so Castiel could enter, then froze. “Whoa… Are you like one of the X-Men too?”

“I still do not know what that is.” This Dean’s room was also a motel, but quite a bit smaller than the previous one. No living area, a smaller kitchen table, and the TV shared counter space with a coffee maker. Again, two twin beds, both of them slept in.

“Gonna take that as a no, then. That a costume? ‘Cause those look friggin’ real, man.”

Castiel stretched his wings slightly out to the side, mindful of the space.

“No way,” Dean breathed out. “So you’re like a _Men In Black_ sort of agent, right? Alien? You got that mind-zapper too?”

“Not alien,” Castiel said. “Angel. Sam and I didn’t want to ‘freak you out,’” he added, thinking this was an appropriate use of air quotes.

“Like…a _real_ angel? Where’s the harp?”

“Why do the musicians get all the credit?” Castiel asked rhetorically. “I have a blade. I’m a soldier, not a musician.”

“Can I see it?” Dean asked, sounding hopeful.

“No.”

“Aww, come on! I can twirl my switchblade. Wanna see?”

“No, Dean. I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Dean flopped down on the foot of one of the beds and motioned toward the small table and chairs. “Fine. Are you really an angel?”

“Yes, really.” After sitting, Castiel asked the same questions he had of the other two Deans. No sign of a helper. No one ever came to the room, other than when Dean ordered pizza, but Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had.

“Have you ever explored downstairs?”

“Yeah. Sure. Gotta know the environment, right? Dad taught me that.”

“Have you seen the office downstairs?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. But the door was locked.”

Castiel pondered this. “If the door was locked, how did you know it was an office?”

Dean shrugged again. “Sign on the door says motel office.”

“Would you come down there with me now?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean stood up and went to the door.

“What do you know about these circles?” Castiel asked once he joined Dean at the door. He pointed to the discolored carpet once the door was opened.

“Not a lot,” Dean said. “Sometimes, like, the moment I step on it, I’m in that room with you and Agent Sam. And other times it didn’t do anything. Like that time I thought I heard someone talking, I stepped out to see if I could see them, and I was on that circle thing and nothing happened. But that was the only time I heard anything.”

Castiel nodded. “I think it’s a kind of portal.”

“Cool…” Dean stared at the carpet with a kind of awe. “So we should avoid it?”

“For now. Let’s go check out the office.”

Halfway downstairs, Castiel asked if Dean could see any pictures on the stairway wall. As suspected, Dean could only see the ones that corresponded to his age and view of reality. At least Castiel didn’t have to explain a wedding photo of the two of them.

At the office door, Dean stopped short. “Huh. Sign’s gone.” He reached out and jiggled the knob. “Locked, see?”

Castiel reached out and tried. It opened easily.

“Gotta be the angel mojo,” Dean said. “I can’t believe you’re a real angel. Like, mind: blown.” He mimed an explosion around his head.

They surveyed the office, but Castiel didn’t see anything that wasn’t there before.

“Hey, check this out,” Dean said, holding the rectangular strip of metal. He turned it around to show it off.

It all made sense when Castiel saw what it was. A name plate. In white letters on faux woodgrain, it said CASTIEL.


	13. Chapter 13

“So I guess you’re the helper, huh?” Dean said, setting the name plate upright on the desk.

Castiel sighed, looking around the office, even though he was certain it contained no more secrets to be revealed. “It would appear so.”

“Hey, where’s all that confidence you had in that other room? With Agent Sam?”

“I _was_ confident until now,” Castiel said. He motioned to the door for Dean to exit. “I was confident I’d find the helper part, who could help all of you.”

“Well, now you get to be the helper. Which is cool, actually. You weren’t a very good social services guy. And an even worse agent. And a really crappy pizza man.”

Castiel pulled the door closed and looked closely at Dean. “You know about the pizza man?”

With both a shrug and a smirk, Dean said, “Yeah.”

“And the babysitter?”

“Dude. I _am_ the babysitter. Little brother, remember?”

“Dean, I know you are almost a teenager, but you are too young to be watching… _that_.”

Obviously confused, Dean stared at him. “Watching what?”

_Oh_. Castiel looked back at the door, half-checking to make sure it was closed. Dean might have meant an actual pizza delivery person. And an actual babysitter. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” He chanced a look at Dean again, whose face registered confusion and irritation. “It’s classified. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Well…” Dean shrugged. “Wait… What did you mean helping all of me?”

Castiel looked around the foyer. “What do you see here?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes at Castiel. “Answering a question with a question? Not fair. I’ll play, but only if you answer _my_ question.”

“I really am working on a case,” Castiel said. “And how I answer you will depend on your answers. What do you see here?”

“Um…” Dean peered in every direction, taking his time. “Looks like one of those huge entryways to a really old, big house. Like a creepy, haunted house. Why?”

“You don’t see a motel?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. “That’s weird. When I was down here before, it _did_. And I thought that,” he pointed to the door, “was the motel office. But it didn’t look like a house.” He eyed Castiel suspiciously. “This more angel mojo?”

“I don’t know if it’s because you’re with me or not.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out. Let’s go back upstairs and then I’ll come down by myself.” Dean started toward the stairs.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean argued, turning around. “If I’m old enough to watch my brother, I’m old enough to go downstairs by myself.” He started up the stairs and called over his shoulder, “You coming, or do I have to ditch your ass?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Teenagers.”

 

 

When Tween Dean returned to his room, he looked a little shaken. Castiel wasn’t sure at first if he could enter Dean’s room without Dean, but the door opened easily to his touch. It seemed safer to wait in there than risk being seen by any of the other Deans, should they venture out of their rooms.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Dean demanded.

“What did you see?”

“Parking lot. Motel office where we just were. Door was closed and locked. It was all outside, man. No creepy old house.” He slouched down in a chair. “So what is it then? Djinn?”

Castiel tried to integrate what he was seeing and hearing. This felt like talking to the adult Dean he knew, yet this Dean was clearly just about to enter puberty. “No. Not a djinn.”

“Spell? Hex bag? Witchy stuff?”

Castiel sighed. “In a way.”

“It’s not the motel, is it?” Dean said it like he already knew. “It’s me.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So what happened?” Dean got up and went to the kitchenette’s tiny fridge, got out a bottle, and returned to the table. At Castiel’s raised eyebrows, he said, “What? It’s Dad’s. But I think I’m gonna need it for this story.” He popped the top off the beer with his switchblade, took a gulp, and sputtered.

Carefully, Castiel relayed what happened, the spell, the different parts, then Castiel dream walking with him, only to find this house with all the doors. “I’ve met with the two younger Deans. One is four; the other is about nine.”

“I’d probably remember what they know. We can test it.”

“Dean, I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No, I kinda knew somethin’ was off, after you weren’t the pizza guy. I can’t remember when I ordered pizza last. I can’t remember eating anything other than those Hot Pockets. I don’t know what day it is, or how long Dad’s been gone. And you an’ I’ve been talking all this time and Sammy hasn’t woken up. He’s not even really here, is he?”

“No. Not really.”

“Where is he? Really?” Dean took another swig of beer. “Don’t treat me like a kid.”

“Sam made you the Hot Pockets.”

“That was really him?”

“Yes. That was really him.”

Dean let out a long breath before taking another swallow. “At least he’s safe, right?”

“He’s safe and healthy, Dean. You took extremely good care of him.”

“So now it’s my turn, huh? Gotta put myself back together?”

“I’m going to help you, Dean. That’s why I’m here.”

Dean took another long swallow and set the beer down on the table. “Okay. Lead on. Let’s go meet past-me.”

 

* * *

 

Four-year-old Dean answered his door with a wide grin and a drawing in one hand. “I made the drawing!” he exclaimed before he spotted Tween Dean and excitement gave way to caution. “Who is that?”

“I’m the one who’s gonna teach you everything I know about the best music and the best food,” Tween Dean said as he sauntered in and looked around the bedroom before eyeing four-year-old Dean. “You’re kinda cute for a rugrat,” he added.

“Do you like to color?” the younger Dean asked shyly.

Tween Dean pointed at him. “You’re the one who drew this guy.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Castiel. “Aren’t you?” At the other Dean’s nod, he grinned. “You draw really well.”

“Do you wanna color with me?”

Tween Dean turned back to Castiel. “He’s adorable.”

“Yes, he is,” Castiel agreed. “I will go talk to the other one and return shortly.”

“Yeah, I’ll color with you,” Tween Dean said to his younger counterpart. “Lemme tell you about X-Men.”

 

 

Castiel closed the door quietly and made his way through the gray swirl to the next door before knocking softly.

“Castiel? Is that you?” called a child’s voice.

“It’s me.”

Slowly the door opened and Dean looked around the hallway warily. “You came back.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. “There are two other children I’d like you to meet.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t. I have to watch Sammy.”

“I will watch Sam for you and ensure his safety.”

“I don’t know. What if they don’t like me?”

“You prayed for guidance, yes?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, looking at the floor.

“Perhaps a part of you prayed also not to be alone? Or lonely? To have people understand and accept you, as you are?”

Castiel could see Dean’s throat working, as if he was struggling to swallow. Dean nodded again, then swiped at his eyes with his hand.

“Dean, look at me.”

Slowly, Dean looked up, his gaze meeting Castiel’s only to dart away again before returning.

“Let me answer that prayer for you now. You don’t have to do this all by yourself.”

After taking a few shaky breaths, Dean visibly swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

Castiel held his hand out and after a hesitation, Dean took it. “We’re not going far,” Castiel said.

He led Dean to the four-year-old’s door and knocked, noting sounds of laughter coming from behind the door. When Tween Dean opened it, he had the four-year-old on his hip.

“Cas!” Four-year-old Dean held out his arms from his perch.

Castiel smiled and took the boy with his left arm, feeling the youngest Dean reach out and smooth a small hand over his feathers as they stepped in the room.

“He reminded me of some stuff I’d forgotten,” Tween Dean said with a half-smile. “Good stuff.” He glanced over at the Dean still holding Castiel’s hand and sighed. “I remember you. Kind of a crap life right now, huh?”

Not letting go of Castiel’s hand, the younger Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, I know,” Tween Dean said. “Don’t admit it to anyone, right? Fake it till you make it?” He extended his hand and made a _come here_ motion. “C’mon. We’re gonna make your day a whole lot better.”

The youngest Dean squirmed until Castiel set him down, and then he looked up at nine-year-old Dean. “Do you like to color? I have a lot of crayons. Six four crayons. And you can pick any one you want.”

“Sixty-four,” Tween Dean corrected.

“Six and four,” the youngest Dean said, nodding his head emphatically. “Six and four crayons. And I’m four!”

“Six and four make ten if you’re adding,” the younger Dean said, letting go of Castiel’s hand and venturing closer to Tween Dean. “I’m almost ten.”

“Yeah?” Tween Dean said. “You got your times tables memorized too?”

“Twenty-four,” the younger Dean replied quickly. “As I was learning them, I—”

“Taught them to Sammy,” Tween Dean added in unison. He pointed to the younger Dean. “Remember this number: fifty-two fifty-two.”

“Fifty-two fifty-two?”

“If you know a car’s torque, RPM, and five-thousand, two hundred and fifty-two, you can figure out the horsepower. And if you know the horsepower and RPM, you can figure out the torque.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Tween Dean put his arm around the younger Dean and led him toward the small table covered with paper and crayons as the youngest Dean ran ahead. “Let me introduce you to the world of cars.”


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel left the three of them in the youngest Dean’s room, thinking that he’d take back everything he thought about teenagers. Or Dean as a teenager. When it mattered, Dean stepped up and made the best of the situation. He felt a twinge of regret as he made his way further down the hall. It would have been nice to stay with Dean’s child parts. But he couldn’t forget that there was one part bent on destruction, and another who would no doubt try to kill himself if given a chance.

Those he would have to work up to. He needed more support from Dean, more backup, as it were. The Dean who thought they were married might be in enough denial that it would take a lot to convince him otherwise. But the Dean who professed his love…that Dean might be able to help.

As he made his way through the grayness toward what he believed was the correct door, he saw movement just outside another door. Wings raised slightly in instinctive readiness, he strode toward the figure, only to see the flash of a handgun as the figure disappeared back into the room. Hunter Dean, then. And that Dean now knew Castiel was here. Inside.

Carefully watching around him, Castiel altered direction and headed back toward his original destination. He knocked once, waited, listening intently, and knocked again when there was no response. “Dean.” He spoke softly but urgently so that none of the other Deans could hear him.

The door swung open then, and Dean grinned when he saw Castiel. “Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. May I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dean stepped to the side and Castiel entered a nearly-exact replica of Dean’s room in the bunker. The only difference he could spot, having recently put Dean’s real bedroom back together, is that this one had nightstands on both sides of the bed, and enough pillows on the bed for two people to share it.

“You…” Dean had closed the door and was staring.

It took Castiel a moment to remember that in this place, his wings were visible to all the Deans. He raised his wings slightly, trying to recreate that iridescence the four-year-old Dean had described. “They’re visible here,” he explained.

“No shit. Cas, I… They’re gorgeous. And a little terrifying.”

“I don’t seem to be able to hide them,” Castiel said. “I would otherwise, to make you feel more comfortable.” He angled his wings so he could sit on the green couch and motioned for Dean to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean looked down at the floor and Castiel could pick up a faint blush coloring Dean’s cheeks. “Um…you know… Kissing you. And then all of a sudden you were gone. I figured I’d crossed a line. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset, Dean. And you didn’t cross a line. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.”

“Really?” Dean looked up, a hopeful expression on his face.

“Really. But something did happen, and I need your help.”

“Anything, Cas. You know that.”

Castiel nodded toward the bedroom door. “What do you see when you open your door?”

“The bunker hallway.” Dean shrugged. “What else would I see?”

“Would you come with me?”

Standing, Dean looked at him critically. “You gonna tell me what this is about?”

“Very soon, Dean.” Castiel held out his hand, and after a hesitation and another blush, Dean took it. Castiel went to the door and opened it but didn’t move forward. “What do you see?

Dean was tense almost immediately, his free hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“It’s safe, Dean,” Castiel reassured him. “I just need to know what you see.”

“Kind of a gray mist,” Dean said. “What happened to the bunker?”

“Soon. Come with me, please.”

Castiel led Dean through the whirling gray, mindful of the hunter’s doorway, to the stairwell and then down. He stopped halfway down and pointed to the wall with the photos. “What do you see here?”

“What the hell is this, Cas?” Dean demanded. “We don’t have photos up in the bunker. We don’t have hardly any photos period.”

“I know. Just a little farther.”

They made it down to the foyer, where Dean looked around, confused, and then asked again where they were. Castiel led him to the office door and gestured for Dean to open it, but as he expected, it was locked until Castiel put his hand on the knob. Once inside, Dean looked around the sparse furniture and stopped when he spotted Castiel’s nameplate.

“You have…an _office_?” Dean scoffed. “Sam put you up to this?”

“Let’s go back to your room,” Castiel said. “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

 

* * *

 

“I still feel like myself,” Dean argued, sitting on the end of the bed again. “All of myself. Except that nothing’s stopping me from… well… And you’re saying what _was_ stopping me are now running around this Bizaro house as a bunch of different versions of _me_?”

Castiel hesitated before admitting, “Not exactly.”

“Oh, I supposed you’re gonna say next that I’m one of the versions. Not really Dean.” He stared at Castiel for a moment before throwing his hands up in the air. “Really? You’re gonna go there, Cas? How about I prove to you how real I am?”

“No one is saying you’re not real, Dean. Only that you’re not _all_ of Dean.” Before Dean could throw out another argument, Castiel added, “Do you have any memories of being in Hell? Of being a demon? Of carrying the mark?”

“And why would I want those? Nobody wants those. Sam keeps telling me to _think positive_ or some other touchy-feely crap and now that I am, you’re on my case?”

“I’m not ‘on your case,’ Dean. Answer me honestly. Do you have any of those memories?”

Dean was quiet for a long time, and just before Castiel was about to prompt him again, he blurted out, “No, damnit. I don’t. Okay?” He sighed. “So what does this mean, Cas? This mean I gotta die? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ you, from where I stand, life’s pretty good right now. No Hell memories, not much in the way of negative thinking at all, and you didn’t knock me on my ass for kissing you. Tell me why I’d wanna give that up?”

“I don’t think you have to give any of that up.”

“Yeah? So what happens to _me_ , then? Assimilated into the Borg?”

“What Sam and I know about this…” Castiel sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. “Your situation is not typical. But the splits are clearly along lines of trauma. Somehow, healing the trauma is going to heal the splits, and I don’t know how to do that. What grace I have is enough to dream walk with you, but not enough to heal you. And I wish more than anything that I could.” He sat back, his arms and hands feeling useless. “For once, I regret falling, because if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have to go through this. You’re in this situation _because_ of me.”

“No, Cas, you’re wrong there.” Dean stood up and paced around the room. “From what you’ve said, I’m in this situation because of Rowena, and back further, because of the Brits. Not you. And if you hadn’t fallen…” Dean stopped and met Castiel’s eyes with a smirk. “If you hadn’t fallen for me, I wouldn’t have fallen for you.”

Castiel felt one side of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Your double entendres aside, I don’t know how to answer what happens to you, except that I know you don’t go away or die. You become _more_. You become whole again.”

“But I feel whole already, Cas.” Dean sat back down on the bed. “That’s the problem. Everything I don’t remember, I don’t want it.”

“Everything you experienced, Dean, even the painful times, they’ve made you who you are. And nothing says you have to remember all of it. You just need to accept it. Accept that it’s part of you.” He watched Dean stare at the floor for a while and continued on. “Humans learn through trial and error, through mistakes and failures. That’s not how angels work. That’s not how I used to work. I had a mission and I either succeeded or I failed. If I succeeded, I was given another mission. If I failed, I was…reprogrammed. There was no learning. Only doing. Until you, Dean. Learning is hard and it’s painful and I made more than my fair share of mistakes. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything, other than to save you.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “You have come a long way from the cold, duty-bound robot you used to be.”

“I know we never talk about it, but I wouldn’t be who I am now if I hadn’t failed so miserably trying to win the war against Raphael, or trusted Metatron.” He sighed. “Or said yes to Lucifer. Those experiences taught me, more than anything else, who I am and who I’m not. Where my loyalties are. And how far is too far.”

“So, what, you’re saying there are no mistakes? Every road leads us to where we are?” Dean asked.

“Not that there are no mistakes. Only that every mistake is an opportunity to learn.”

Dean pursed his lips together. “So we’re either living or learning.”

“Or both,” Castiel added. “Those parts you don’t remember, they’re your learning, Dean. Who you are. Who you’re not. How far you’re willing to go. And how far is too far.”

Dean was silent for a long time. “I’m not really in the bunker right now, am I? I mean this,” he waved his hand around the room, “isn’t really the bunker. It’s all in my head, isn’t it? That’s what the house is about. Your _office_.” He snorted in amusement. “You gonna be my therapist, Cas? Find another way to dig around in my head?”

“Not your therapist, Dean. Your friend.”

Dean swallowed so loudly, Castiel could hear it. “What if… What if I want more than friendship?”

Castiel stood, went over to Dean, and sat down next to him. “I’m not opposed to that. However, I am mindful that there are three children just down the hall. And at least two other adults who would probably like to kill me, one of whom knows I’m here.”

“Can they come in here?” Dean asked, holding Castiel’s gaze.

“I don’t know.”

“Wait.” Dean snapped his fingers. “My door has a lock.” He stood quickly, went to his nightstand, and pulled out a skeleton key from the drawer. “All the doors in the bunker have these old mortise locks,” he explained, going to the door, slipping the key in, and wiggling it until it turned with a _clunk_. “It won’t keep out an angry, determined adult, but it should keep any kids out.”

“Including a precocious twelve-and-a-half-year-old?” Castiel asked.

Dean considered that. “Yeah, I probably knew how to pick locks at twelve.”

“Twelve and a half,” Castiel corrected.

Chuckling, Dean pocketed the key and sat back down. “You’re adorable.”

Castiel put his hand to Dean’s face. “So are you.” He stroked over Dean’s cheek with his thumb and adjusted his visual focus to take in Dean’s aura, the brightness of his soul. Even fractured and incomplete, it was beautiful, veins of red and deep pink running through it, nearly shouting Dean’s love. He licked his lips instinctively, unsure of how to proceed and how this Dean might react.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” Dean said, leaning closer.

“Okay,” Castiel managed to say as conflicting physical sensations warred for his attention. Dean’s lips were soft and warm as they gently pressed against his own, almost hesitating. He returned the kiss, less certain how to move his lips the more he thought about it. He kept his hand on Dean’s face, but didn’t know what to do with the other one. Should he pull Dean closer? Would Dean like that or would he feel trapped? Perhaps he should move so he sat closer to Dean. But maybe that was moving too fast. Dean should be allowed to set the pace. Maybe instead—

Dean pulled away, leaving a cool void. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m not…” Castiel swallowed and tried again. “I’m not sure how to do this. Beyond the mechanics. I understand anal intercourse, if that’s what you’re—”

“Okay, first,” Dean interrupted, holding up one finger. “Do not _ever_ call it that. And you don’t have to know what to do. Just go with what feels good.” Dean raised both hands to run his fingers over the arches of Castiel’s wings, then lowered them to his trench coat. “Can I take this off? I don’t know how this works with your wings.”

Castiel nodded. “We’re not in the physical realm. I could explain the physics of it…”

“Nope,” Dean said. “Anatomy first. Physics later.”

He allowed Dean to peel the coat off, followed by his suit coat. Fingers at his tie, Dean kissed him again while loosening it.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Cas,” Dean said, his voice half an octave lower. He removed the tie, then began unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt as he resumed kissing, first lips, then jaw, neck, collar bone.

Castiel still didn’t know what to do with his hands, but he wanted them on Dean, without question. He cupped Dean’s face, only to discover that now his arms were in Dean’s way. Readjusting to the back of Dean’s neck, then his shoulders, Castiel gave up trying to figure it out and began yanking Dean’s overshirt off at the same time Dean was working the dress shirt off Castiel’s shoulders.

Laughing, Dean pulled Castiel’s hands off. “Easy there, tiger. I got this.” He removed Castiel’s shirt and stepped closer, his hands working Castiel’s belt buckle. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this,” he said softly before kissing him again.

Castiel felt Dean’s hair in his fingers without realizing he’d moved his hands. He scratched lightly at Dean’s scalp with his fingernails, then grabbed a handful and tugged, eliciting a groan from Dean. There was a clunk on the floor, followed by an unfamiliar coolness. Dean sank to one knee, trailing his hands along Castiel’s bare legs, then pulled Castiel’s boots off and helped him step out of the pool of slacks and boxers on the floor.

Dean repositioned Castiel so he was standing in front of the side of the bed, then eased him down into a sitting position, Castiel’s wings stretched out to the side and resting on the bed. With a wink and a smirk, Dean pulled his own shirts off, kicked off his boots, and shucked his jeans and boxer briefs.

Castiel had seen Dean’s body before, had recreated it particle by particle, but it was so much more glorious with Dean alive in it. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of skin, to feel the warmth and perfect imperfections, to do the closest thing he could to caressing Dean’s essence. He was about to stand up and do just that when Dean dropped to his knees next to the bed, moved so he fit between Castiel’s legs, and pulled him forward for another kiss.

As Dean began his own exploration of skin with kisses and licks and nibbles, hands roaming and stroking, Castiel found it harder and harder to relax, nerves firing in unusual ways, a heated pressure low in his abdomen and extending into the organ that Dean was— _Oh…OH!_

Dean had taken it into his mouth, all heat and wetness and a tongue that could do things that made it feel like nothing he’d ever felt before, like bliss and euphoria focused on a single point, and all at once he wanted to shout and cry and feel _more_. Gone were his memories of watching humanity, of wars fought, of every event that led them to this moment. It was pure sensation that threatened to split him into a decillion pieces of ecstasy. He could no longer control the trembling of his wings or how his hands clenched the bedcovers. And then when he thought he was about to burst, it stopped.

Unable to keep from panting, he focused what little coherence he had left on lifting his head.

Dean had sat back on his heels and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. One half of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “You liked that, huh?”

“Oh…” Castiel breathed. “Yes. Very much.”

“It’s gonna get better,” Dean said, pulling himself to his feet and helping Castiel to reposition himself so he was laying lengthwise on the bed, wings out to the sides.

He crawled up Castiel’s body and leaned down to kiss him again, and everywhere that skin met skin, Castiel was certain there were visible sparks. Dean began to explore his wings then, fingers digging into the feathers and combing through them, kissing the arches when Castiel raised them to brush along Dean’s arms.

With Dean’s weight comfortably on him, and Dean touching his wings, Castiel could feel Dean’s compassion and love, how much he cared for others without any worries about what others would think holding him back. But that also underscored that this Dean lacked a depth that the whole Dean had, and as much as Castiel reveled in what he was feeling, he longed to feel it with _all_ of Dean and not just this part.

“Dean, wait,” he said, berating himself for stopping the delicious things Dean was doing.

“What, Cas? You uncomfortable?”

“Not that.” Castiel tried to think coherently. “I know this is what you want. But it may not be what the others want.”

“You’re asking for my consent?” Dean asked. “’Cause you got it. Hundred and ten percent.”

“But I don’t have _theirs_ ,” Castiel said.

Dean stopped moving and looked away for a moment. “This isn’t really my body, is it? In the real world?”

“No. Your body is asleep in your room.”

“Then you don’t need their consent. You’re with _me_.” He kissed Castiel. “In _my_ room.” He kissed him again. “And I say _yes_.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay. I say yes too.”

Dean kissed him again and dragged their hips together, creating the most amazing pleasure. “I wanna show you how much I love you.”

“I want you to.” Castiel stroked his feathers up Dean’s sides, relishing every point of contact.

Leaning over, Dean pulled a bottle out of his nightstand drawer. “Not in the physical world; no need for condoms, right?” He gave Castiel a half-smile. “But I’m gonna use the lube just in case.”

To make it easier for Dean, Castiel spread his legs, allowing Dean to settle in between them, then brought his knees up to his chest. “I trust you, Dean.”

“You’re so beautiful, Cas. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“It’s not about anything you did,” Castiel said, holding Dean’s gaze. “It’s about who you _ah_ —” He yelped as a wet finger rubbed over his hole and then pushed slowly inside. “ _Oh, Dean_ …”

After the feeling of one finger moving inside him, a second one joined with a slight burn. Dean was moving his hand around, twisting his wrist just a bit, when an explosion of sensation and color hit Castiel. His wings flapped furiously against the bed and he heard himself make a sound he didn’t think was possible.

“Found it,” Dean said, rubbing over that spot again.

With every pass, Castiel could feel himself loosening, relaxing around Dean’s warm fingers as another one was added, and when Dean began massaging his perineum with the fingers of his other hand, Castiel couldn’t stand it anymore. “Dean. _Please_.”

“Please what?”

“Stop toying with me,” Castiel growled. “I’m ready.”

Dean removed his fingers slowly, leaving a nearly-aching void, and then slowly pushed himself against Castiel’s hole. Wanting Dean inside him _now_ , Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean’s hips and pulled Dean into him with one strong movement.

“Whoa, Cas…” Dean breathed out. “Take it easy or this’ll be over before it starts.” He held still for a few moments, testing Castiel’s patience, before he finally began to move slowly.

“ _Dean_. More.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” Dean picked up the pace but seemed to be having trouble figuring out where to hold himself up with his arms, staying clear of Castiel’s wings.

Castiel pushed his wings forward, flight feathers caressing Dean’s back and legs. “Use my wings,” he urged.

Dean grabbed hold of the larger wing bones, just inside the arch, and pulled gently as he thrust deeper.

“I’m not going to break,” Castiel said through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

After a pause, Dean pulled hard on his wings and sat back at the same time, pulling Castiel into his lap. He used the shift in his center of gravity to rearrange his legs under Castiel, and then he was pulling and pumping, driving into Castiel with abandon.

Castiel found his own glans caught between their torsos, squeezed and rubbed with every thrust, and Castiel felt as if he was flying, racing toward the edge of a high cliff, getting closer to the edge until finally he leapt over the side and fell into wave after wave of pure bliss, muscles tensing and trembling, and he heard himself call out Dean’s name as if it were the only word left among all the languages. Moments later, Dean stuttered beneath him, groaning, pulling him close, and burying his face in Castiel’s feathers.

 

 

“Cas! _Cas!_ ”

Castiel opened his eyes, expecting to see Dean above him, but instead seeing a brighter, harsher version of Dean’s bedroom. “Dean?” he asked, sitting up.

Sam sat in a chair pulled up next to the bed. “Man, you scared me,” he said. “You were moaning like you were in pain and then you called out for Dean and I was afraid he was doing something to you.”

“Oh. Yes… I’m…” Castiel noted the wetness in his pants and realized that what he and Dean had just done affected his vessel too. “I’m okay.” He turned to look at Dean, apologizing silently for examining Dean’s groin, but finding no visual evidence that Dean had been affected the same way. With a slight gesture, he used his grace to clean himself up. “I need to go back.”

“You’ve found the helper?” Sam asked.

“Um… Yes. In a way.”

“Is it another angel? Do you know him?”

“No. And yes.”

“Oh, come on, Cas. Don’t give me riddles.” Sam sounded exasperated.

“It seems Dean decided to make me his helper. There isn’t a separate helping part. But there was an office, with a filing cabinet and files on each of the eight parts, and a name plate with my name on it.”

“An _office_?”

“With files,” Cas added.

“Man, I knew Dean was organized, but wow… So you’re making progress then?”

“I’ve talked with half of them. They understand what’s going on to some degree. The three child parts are all together. But I need to go back now, Sam. I can’t stay here.”

“Okay, all right,” Sam said, holding his hands up. “You had me worried. You do what you need to do, but I’m gonna stay here, just in case things go south.”

“Go south?” Castiel repeated, still feeling residuals from his orgasm.

“Go wrong. If you get in trouble.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose that would be wise.” Castiel settled back down on the bed, returning his focus to Dean. “Thank you for watching out for us,” he added.

“You’re family, Cas. We do that for each other.”


	15. Chapter 15

When Castiel rejoined Dean’s mind, it was in the middle of his office rather than the murky gray outside of the house. He quickly checked the filing cabinet to verify that there were still eight files and then quickly made his way back to the room he’d last been in, realizing that he was dressed again and wondering what he’d find in Dean’s room.

Before Castiel had even finished knocking, a fully-clothed Dean jerked the door open. “What happened?”

Castiel entered and glanced around the room. No clothes on the floor. The bedcovers looked neat and orderly. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean closed the door and blushed bright red. “Probably the best sex in my entire life. I think I…uh…blacked out. When I woke up, I was standing here, dressed, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“Sam woke me from dream walking. He thought you were attacking me.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. “I kinda was. Wait, why would he think that?”

“What we did here, it affected my vessel. But not yours,” Castiel was quick to add.

“Awkward.”

“Yes. Well… I am sorry that it ended so abruptly. And I don’t regret a single moment. But I still need to go talk to the others.”

“Two of whom want to kill you?” Dean prompted.

“One for sure. Possibly two. And they’re both likely armed.”

“How many me’s do you have left to talk to?”

“Those two and two others.”

“Plus the three kids,” Dean said. “Okay, here’s what you do. Go talk to the ones who don’t want to kill you. Then come get me. I’ll help with the others.”

“I appreciate that, Dean, but I’m not sure—”

“Cas, either you come get me, or I’m gonna come lookin’ for you. Capisce?”

Castiel rolled his eyes with amusement. “ _Sì, ti capisco amore mio_.”

Dean groaned. “And he speaks Italian.”

“I speak all languages, Dean.”

Dean studied him for a moment, then grinned and came close. “I bet you don’t speak Dean-ish,” he said in a low voice.

Castiel licked his lips. “You will need to teach me that one.” He leaned in and kissed Dean. “I require some remedial tutoring.”

Dean returned the kiss, then cupped his face and rested his forehead against Castiel’s. “Go, before I have my way with you again.”

“That is not a very convincing argument.”

“My willpower is crumbling the longer you stay here,” Dean warned.

With one last kiss, Castiel went to the door. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

 

* * *

 

Based on the files, Husband Dean was in room number eight. Castiel was cautious around the hunter’s doorway, but didn’t see him or anyone else. He knocked on the door, trying to prepare himself for anything.

Dean’s voice called out before the door even unlatched. “Did you forget your—” he swung the door open, “key again?”

“I must have,” Castiel said, walking in without waiting for an invitation. If this Dean thought they were married, then asking to enter would be unusual. He stood in the living room of an apartment, with a small eating area off to the left, a kitchen just beyond it, and a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms.

“Long day at work, babe?” Dean asked as he headed toward the kitchen.

“Very long. We need to talk, Dean.”

“I have some other, _better_ things in mind than talking,” Dean said, grabbing two beers out of the refrigerator. He turned around, froze, and dropped one of the bottles, which broke on the linoleum floor and splashed beer all over Dean’s shoes. “Shit!”

“The beer can wait,” Castiel said, coming closer.

“No. Stop.” Dean held a hand up. “What the _fuck_ are those?”

“What are—?” He followed Dean’s gaze toward his wings and sighed. _Again_. “This is why we need to talk.”

“I’m not talking until you tell me what the hell you’re wearing.” Dean seemed to relax a bit. “Wait, is it October? Early Halloween party?”

“Right now, I want you to think you’re dreaming. I know it feels real.”

“Okay…” Dean said slowly. “Last dream I remember having was fighting with a thrown rod in a 1970 VW Squareback.”

Castiel motioned with his hand and the broken bottle and spilled beer remembered its earlier state and reassembled itself accordingly on the kitchen counter, a bead of condensation dripping down the outside of the bottle.

“How…?”

“You’re dreaming, Dean.”

Dean sighed, examined the formerly-broken beer carefully, then picked it up and handed it to Castiel, who gestured toward the living room sofa. While Dean sat, Castiel made himself comfortable on an ottoman near where Dean sat, allowing his wings to hang over the back edge.

“So what do we have to talk about?” Dean asked.

“Remember that you’re dreaming,” Castiel said. At Dean’s nod, he continued. “You’re dreaming that you work in Bobby’s shop. We’re married. I’m a surgeon. Everyone you love lives nearby. It’s quite a nice life, actually. One you deserve. But it’s still a dream.”

“I know my life, Cas. It’s not a dream.”

“Within this dream, it’s very real to you. But let me ask you this: do you remember your childhood?”

“’Course I do. What of it any adult remembers. Family picnics, road trip vacations. All the usual stuff.”

“Tell me about one of the vacations you took,” Castiel prompted.

“I dunno. It was a long time ago. What does any of this matter?”

“What about being twelve? Or your early teen years?” When Dean shrugged, he added, “What about high school? Do you remember high school graduation?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I was drunk. Or high. Or both. Or maybe I didn’t graduate and got my GED later.”

“Did you?” Castiel pressed.

“I—” Dean looked all over the room. “I don’t know.”

“What does your wedding ring look like, Dean? Are there details on it? Any stones? Engravings?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer and closed it again. “It’s my ring. You gave it to me. I remember you proposing to me.” Dean’s voice broke on the last word and his eyes filled with tears. “You’re saying we’re not married? Are you even real?”

“I am very real, Dean. And no, we’re not married. I’m not opposed to it, but it’s a decision you’ll need to make later, when you’re better.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t know how to say this without being blunt. It will be painful.”

“Cas, you’re scaring me.”

“Outside this dream, you and I have known each other for eight years. I do love you. I’m _in_ love with you. That is real. I’m also not human. I’m in a human vessel—not possessing anyone. I’m an angel, Dean. These wings,” he lifted them halfway and watched Dean’s face for his reaction, “are visible here, within the dream.”

Dean chewed on his lip, his breathing shallow. “Why didn’t I see them when Mom came to visit?”

“That’s…more complicated. Who you saw then, Sam and your mother, they are real. That really is your kitchen. You and Sam live in a hidden, underground bunker. The two of you have been hunting that which preys on humans—supernatural monsters—for most of your life.”

Dean looked away and shook his head for several moments before he met Castiel’s gaze again. “Now _that_ sounds like a dream. Or the plot to a book. Or a really campy TV show. My life is fucking normal compared to that.”

“I understand that. And I think you’ve dreamed of a normal life for a long time, which is why you created this one. You’ve lost a lot of people you love, and in this dream, you brought them all back.”

“So in this life you say _is_ real, who’s still…” Dean swallowed audibly. “Who’s still alive?”

“Sam. And your mom. Well, she was dead for a long time, but she was brought back recently.”

“Not my dad? Or Bobby? Sam’s wife and kids?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. Sam never got the chance to marry Jess before she was killed. They never had children.”

Dean wiped his hand over his face and blinked several times as he looked up at the ceiling. “So I’ve got a great life in this dream, and in reality it’s completely fucked up?”

“Essentially, yes. I’m telling you this because outside that door are seven other versions of you, all living their own dream. And in the meantime, your body—the real Dean in the real world—is in danger.”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa… There are seven _other_ versions? What the hell, Cas?”

“You were hit by a spell, which fractured your personality along lines of trauma. Three of the parts are children. One is a suicidal adult. Two are very angry. I need your help, Dean. I need to help you heal these rifts, and become whole again.”

“And what happens to me?”

“You’re not the first one to ask me that. I am certain that you don’t die or disappear. You become part of a greater whole. From all the research Sam has done, you’re an important part of the whole Dean. You’re still needed, but you’re needed along with all the other parts, working together as one.”

Dean was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “So what do you need me to do?”

“I need to introduce you to some of the other parts.”

After taking a long swallow of his beer, Dean set the bottle down and stood. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Not yet. I have one other part I need to talk to first. Then I’ll come get you.”

Dean sat, looking dejected. “Can… Can we spend some time together? If I’m gonna go off to my not-death shortly, don’t I get, like, a last meal or something?”

“I wish I could, Dean. I do. More than you know. But I need to do this. To help _all_ of you.”

“’Kay.” Dean grabbed Castiel’s untouched beer. “I’ll be here, then.”

Castiel stood. “I will return for you.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel told himself that the suicidal part might take a while to help, so he should go to that Dean’s room first. Or perhaps he was taking the easy way out and not confronting Hunter Dean first. But there did seem to be some validity to Suicidal Dean needing time.

As he made his way through the hallway, he noticed also that the gray mist seemed to have thinned out some. On a hunch, we went to the far end of the hall where the children’s rooms were. Sure enough, the mist was gone, each door clearly seen from the others on this end. Heading back to the other end of the hall, the mist was thickest in front of the doors on which he hadn’t yet knocked. He sent another silent thanks to Dean for the visual cues, gathered his resolve, and knocked on what he was certain was Suicidal Dean’s door.

No response. He knocked again, keeping an eye out toward Hunter Dean’s door, as best as he could see it through the whirling gray. “Dean, it’s me. Open up.”

“Don’t bother, Cas,” Dean called through the door, sounding like he’d given up.

“Either you can open it for me, or I can open it on my own,” Castiel said, not knowing for sure if that would work. But since the office door opened to his touch, perhaps all the Deans’ doors did too.

He heard movement on the other side of the door, then the door unlatched and opened slightly. Castiel pushed it open further and stepped inside. The room was dark, with shattered pieces of furniture scattered about. The floor appeared to be gray concrete. After closing the door, Castiel examined the room further, finding a gun and several spent bullets, a hunting knife, several empty bottles of prescription medication, dozens of liquor bottles, and an angel blade. He picked up the angel blade. It looked and felt to his skin like an authentic blade would, but it was missing the vibrations that identified the angel to whom it belonged. He set it back down again and turned to Dean.

Dean sat on the floor, his back up against a wall and his knees to his chest. His eyes were sunken, with deep, purple bags beneath them, his skin pasty. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month or more, oily and matted in the front.

“You’ve tried to kill yourself,” Castiel said.

“More than once,” Dean admitted. “Tried everything in the book, and a few I made up on my own. Hell is preferable to this.” He gestured carelessly around the room and let his hand fall to the floor. “I’m not worth saving, man. You see that now, don’t you?”

“No, Dean. I don’t see that. I see a man who, far too early, was asked to give up everything. His family, his childhood, his home, his friends, and then his life. I see a man who gave it all, _willingly_ , so that others would live and have the chance at happiness he never had. I see compassion and selflessness and so much love, Dean. _All_ I see are reasons for you to be saved.”

“Yeah, I don’t see any of that.”

“I know you don’t. You don’t remember any of the good things you’ve done either.”

“That’s because I haven’t done any.”

“You have, Dean. But you don’t remember them because the parts of you who _do_ remember are outside that door.”

Dean raised his head, a puzzled expression replacing the despair. “What?”

“Let me introduce you to some of them. Will you?”

“Other… _parts_ of me?”

“Let me show you, Dean.” Castiel came over to where Dean was sitting and held his hand out.

Slowly, Dean raised his arm, then clasped Castiel’s hand. Castiel pulled him to standing and held him steady before guiding him to the door.

“It may look gray and misty outside the door. It’s safe. I’m just going to take you to another room,” Castiel assured him.

“I guess.”

Castiel opened the door and walked with Dean through the mist to the other end of the hallway. At the door on the end, he knocked.

A child’s voice called out, “I got it!”

Tween Dean’s reproach was not far behind. “Dean, we don’t know for sure who’s there. Let me get it.”

“But it’s Cas!”

Tween Dean opened the door, four-year-old Dean right next to him.

“I told you,” four-year-old Dean said.

“He doesn’t look so hot,” Tween Dean said, nodding toward suicidal Dean, and stepping aside to let them in.

“He’s not,” Castiel said, guiding him to the bed. When Dean started to sink down onto the floor, Castiel pulled him back up and set him firmly on the bed.

“You’re Dean too?” Tween Dean asked, appraising.

“It’s a Dean club,” nine-year-old Dean said with a half-smile, coming over to take Castiel’s hand. “Thank you. I feel a lot better now. They’re like my best friends but more.”

“This is also Dean,” Castiel said, indicating where Dean was sitting on the bed. “He remembers a lot of things he did that he regrets, but he doesn’t remember doing any good things.”

“You don’t remember taking care of Sammy?” Tween Dean said.

“I remember getting Sammy killed,” Dean answered.

“He’s not dead,” Tween Dean assured him. “Grew up really tall and he’s got a mouth like Mom did. When he told me to go to bed, I actually felt like I had to do it. Do you remember hunting at all?”

Dean nodded, staring at the floor. “I just kept making bad choices after bad choices. Everyone died because of me. I shoulda never come back.”

A small hand reached out and took Dean’s. “Do you want to color?” four-year-old Dean asked. “Sometimes I draw my feelings. Maybe you can draw the sadness and get it on the paper and it won’t be inside you anymore.”

Dean smiled tentatively for a moment before he let out a sob. “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t want to drag you down with me. You’re innocent and light. You don’t want me.”

“All Deans are welcome in the Dean club,” nine-year-old Dean said.

“Dean,” Castiel said, reaching out to lift Dean’s chin so he could meet his eyes. “These children—and teenager—are all a part of the whole Dean. They’re a part of _you_. If you reject yourself, you reject them too. If you try to kill yourself, you’re killing _them_.”

Dean looked at all three of the younger Deans’ faces, then choked down a sob before hiding his face in his hands.

Castiel drew him close, pulling Dean’s head to his chest. “It’s okay, Dean. You’re going to be okay now.”

“We love you,” four-year-old Dean said, patting Dean’s knee.

“You don’t even know me,” Dean managed to say through his tears. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I did stuff I’m not proud of,” nine-year-old Dean said. “’Cause I had to. To survive and take care of Sammy. I did stuff that hurt. I bet the stuff you did was to survive too. Or to help someone else.”

As if a dam burst, Dean broke down in sobs, clinging to Castiel. “I just don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“Let these children—”

“And teen,” Tween Dean interrupted.

“And…teen in,” Castiel said. “Their light is your light too.”

“Do you still have the black car?” four-year-old Dean asked.

Dean nodded, keeping his hold on Castiel.

“Can you draw it? Maybe it will make you feel better.” Four-year-old Dean left for a moment and returned with a black crayon. “This is one of my favorite crayons because it’s the color of Cas’ wings. Except the blue. But you can color with it. For the car. The car takes you places and goes fast, so it’s like you have wings too and they’re both black.”

Taking the crayon gently, Dean sat up, his Adam’s apple jumping with the effort of holding back more sobs.

“Sometimes it just helps to cry too,” nine-year-old Dean said. “I’ve cried a lot. And prayed. And now you’re all here.”

Dean nodded again. “I’ll draw my car. I call her Baby. I never thought of her as my wings before. She’s been like home to me.”

“How come she’s a she?” four-year-old Dean asked.

“All cars are she,” Tween Dean said, hugging four-year-old Dean to him. “Except monster trucks. They’re just assholes.”


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel took a deep breath before he knocked on Hunter Dean’s door. If Dean was armed, which was likely, and attacked, which was possible, there was the potential that whatever harm he did to Castiel in here would affect Castiel’s vessel in the real world. And if it was too much for his grace to heal, or if he didn’t wake up in time, there might be no way to help Dean heal. And that was unacceptable. So. Do not get mortally injured.

He knocked, expecting anything from a gun in his face to an angel blade at his throat.

“I know you’re there,” Dean called from inside. “Just come in. Slowly.”

“Open the door, Dean.”

“No. You come in. It’s unlocked.”

_So that’s how it’s going to be._ Castiel opened the door slowly and stepped inside, moving carefully.

Dean sat in a chair in another replica of his bedroom in the bunker, facing the door with a gun in his hands and an angel blade in his lap. “Where are we?”

Of all the questions Castiel thought Dean might ask, that was not one of them. He decided to start small. “Your bedroom.”

“No shit. Except this isn’t really my bedroom, is it? You’ve been going door to door, in a hallway that’s most definitely not in the bunker. There’s some sort of spot outside the door that’s got a spell or something and takes me to the _real_ bunker, but it doesn’t always work. And these,” he gestured to the angel blade in his lap and the rows of guns and knives hanging on his wall, “aren’t real either.”

“How do you know?” Castiel asked, half out of curiosity and half trying to figure out how he should answer Dean.

Dean shifted in his chair but kept the gun trained on Castiel. “I tried doing a spell. Required the usual blood offering. But either the cut healed up real quick or I couldn’t get any blood at all. And it never worked. I’ve done this spell a hundred times. It _always_ works. So I’ll ask you again: where are we?”

“We’re inside your mind.”

“Huh.” Dean considered that. “Dream walking?”

“Essentially.”

“How is it sometimes I wound up in the real bunker, but I have no memory of the times in between?”

Castiel thought about his answer. Dean was smart, smarter than he often pretended to be, and any inconsistency was likely to be caught by this Dean. “You threw yourself in front of a spell Rowena cast to try and permanently separate me from my vessel. Instead of separating you from your body, the spell fractured your mind. You are one of eight parts residing in an extremely organized, compartmentalized symbolic house of rooms, split off from one another. Each of the parts has had executive control over your body in the real world, some several times, including you.”

Dean raised his chin, looking defiant. “And why should I believe that? Coming from you? _You_ , Cas. You’ve lied to me so many times, _to my face_. Why should I believe you now?”

“I realize I have earned your distrust, Dean.”

“No, you don’t realize _crap_ ,” Dean snarled, grabbing the angel blade with one hand and standing up. He strode over to where Castiel was standing and held the angel blade out, the point just barely digging into Castiel’s stomach. “You have no fucking idea what you did to me. You pull me from Hell, only to go around behind my back, come close to killing my brother, work with _Crowley_ , make yourself God and almost destroy the planet, then set the leviathan loose and nearly destroy it again. You never talk to me, never come ask for _my_ opinion. Oh no,” Dean added sarcastically, “the lowly _mud-monkey_ couldn’t possibly help in such lofty endeavors like trying to _save the fucking world_. And just when I think you’ve learned your lesson and you’ll stick around for a bit and actually _help_ us, you go off half-cocked, looking for Lucifer. So tell me, _Castiel, angel of the Lord_ , why the fuck should I believe a single word out of your mouth?”

Castiel started to speak out of defensive anger, then stopped. “Don’t take my word for it. Let me show you instead.”

“And let you lead me into a trap? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Then just follow me. Keep your weapons. You’ll have full autonomy. You can make your own decisions about what’s real and what’s not.”

“What if this whole thing is your setup, huh? Your buddy Zachariah pulled off an awesome display of alternate-world-making. How do I know this isn’t your work?”

“Aside from the fact that I would never do that to you, Dean, I think that when you meet who I’m going to introduce you to, you’ll come to your own conclusions, no matter what I say or do.”

Dean lowered the angel blade, but held it in readiness. “All right then. Open the door slowly.”

 

 

Husband Dean blanched when he opened the door. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” he said, stepping aside to let them in, and staring at Hunter Dean the way he’d stared at Castiel’s wings.

Hunter Dean looked around the apartment. “You live _here_? Where’s the bunker?”

“I don’t know anything about a bunker,” Husband Dean said. “Cas and I met when his car broke down not far from Bobby’s shop, where I work. We started dating and got married, like, a year ago.”

“You…?” Hunter Dean shook his head. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He turned to Castiel. “This your idea of a joke?”

“Why is my life a joke to you?” Husband Dean demanded. “Are you putting me down like so many other people do, just because I’m a mechanic?”

“No,” Hunter Dean retorted. “Your life is a joke because none of that happened.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter the circumstances. What Cas and I have is real. He told me so himself.”

“Oh, he _told_ you?” Hunter Dean nodded. “Of course he did. And you believe everything he tells you?”

“I do have a mind of my own,” Husband Dean shot back. “And I’m quite capable of using it. What’s got you so pissed off at him? He pee in your Wheaties?”

“No, just eight years of lying and betrayal. No big deal.”

“Oh. So he hurt you.”

Hunter Dean scoffed. “No, he lied to my face and created global-sized messes that _I_ had to clean up.”

“Exactly. He hurt you.” Husband Dean went to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers in an eerie recreation of Castiel’s earlier visit. He came back and gave one to Hunter Dean, then sat down in the living room. “You wouldn’t be so angry if you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, I care,” Hunter Dean said, popping open the beer and taking a long swallow. “I care about the world. I care about all the lives he’s fucked over.”

“Including yours,” Husband Dean added, opening his own beer. “Cas and me, we’ve had our fights. In my world, he’s an extremely gifted surgeon, and he’s always on call, always interrupting our time together to go operate. And he always comes back to me. It took me a while to figure out that it’s because he cares so much. About me, about his patients. He’s always trying to do the right thing and sometimes the bigger picture is the right thing and I just have to be patient.”

“Well, your Cas didn’t try to make himself God.”

Married Dean laughed. “Actually, that’s his nickname in the operating suite. They started calling him Godstiel and then shortened it.”

“He ever lie to you?” Hunter Dean asked.

“Yeah. He’s kept his feelings from me, when he’s torn up about losing a patient. Tells me he’s fine when I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth. He told me he was just working late for a while, when he was actually setting up a fundraiser that he wanted to surprise me with. In the meantime, I thought he was having an affair. But he never lied to intentionally hurt me. He lied to protect me.” Husband Dean glanced over to where Castiel was standing near the door and smiled. “He’s always thinking about me and my feelings, even when he doesn’t make what I think is the right choice. How many husbands do that?”

Hunter Dean stared off into the distance, his jaw working. “Okay, but your world… It’s not real. You know that, right?”

“It feels real,” Husband Dean said. “But yeah, I’m starting to think it’s sort of a really nice delusion that I’m gonna miss.”

“I wouldn’t mind a regular paycheck,” Hunter Dean said, eyeing his beer. “But the bunker’s pretty cool. And I get to play with guns.”

Laughing, Husband Dean nodded. “I’ve thought about maybe checking out a gun range. I don’t know why; it just appeals to me. See how well I can hit a target. Maybe work out some stress.”

“I can teach you,” Hunter Dean said after another swallow. “Been shooting almost since I could read.”

“Yeah? So you’re good?”

“One of the best.”

“Modest too,” Husband Dean said with a grin. He took a swig of beer and set the bottle on a side table. “Okay, you’re on. You gonna forgive him?” he said, nodding toward Castiel.

Hunter Dean shrugged. “You met any of these other parts?”

“Not yet. Just you. You got a chip on your shoulder, Dean, but I like you. You’ve got this confidence and self-assuredness that I’ve always wanted but never quite felt.”

“You’re a little too domestic for my taste, but you make a lot of good points.” Hunter Dean set his bottle down as well and turned to Castiel. “I take it you want me to meet other parts too. That part of this whole deal?”

“Eventually, you all will need to meet. And there is one I haven’t yet spoken to,” Castiel said, not looking forward to dealing with the demon part. “But if you’ll both follow me, I’ll introduce you to another part.”

 

* * *

 

“You were supposed to come get me, Cas,” Lover Dean scolded as he answered the door. “I was about to— Oh.” He looked back and forth between Husband Dean and Hunter Dean. “This is beyond weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Hunter Dean said, inviting himself in. “And I _know_ weird.”

“Weird doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve seen.”

“You a hunter too, or you got some other fake life like him?” Hunter Dean asked, stabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward Husband Dean.

“I hunt,” Lover Dean answered, “but I’m more than just a hunter. I’m also a son and a brother and a friend…” He looked at Castiel with a smile. “And maybe a boyfriend. A lover.”

“No,” Hunter Dean said, shaking his head. “You had me until ‘boyfriend.’ _Him?_ ” He glared at Castiel. “First of all, he’s a guy. That’s a nope right there.”

“My vessel is male,” Castiel said, “but I have no gender.”

“Yeah, male body? You’re a guy in my book.” Hunter Dean turned back around. “Dad would never approve.”

“Dad was a product of his generation, his time in the military, and a lot of ignorance and fear,” Lover Dean replied. “He defined masculinity a certain way, but that doesn’t make him right. Or me wrong.”

“Well, he wouldn’t look at me twice if he thought I was dating a guy. Any guy. But a non-human guy? Hard no.”

“Dean,” Lover Dean said softly. “Dad’s dead. And what he thinks doesn’t matter. It’s what _you_ think. What _you_ feel. What’s important to you. The only reason to care what he thinks—or would have thought—is to gain his acceptance. And nothing was good enough for him because he didn’t think he was good enough for himself.”

“Don’t dis on Dad. He was plenty good enough. He was a great hunter.”

“He blamed himself for Mom dying,” Lover Dean said. “You had to have seen that. All the drinking, the obsession.”

“Cas accepted me with all my hangups,” Husband Dean said with a wry smile. “But none of that mattered until I accepted myself. He helped me with that. Helped me see what I couldn’t.”

“Okay, enough with the chick-flick moments,” Hunter Dean grumbled.

Lover Dean chuckled. “Why do we do that? Avoid them? Those moments are when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. When we finally say things that matter.”

“Yeah, well, vulnerability isn’t high on my list of things to be,” Hunter Dean said. “It’s right after _dead_.”

“It’s only when you allow yourself to be vulnerable,” Lover Dean said, “that you’re truly living.”

“Thanks, Oprah,” Hunter Dean snarked.

“Who is this other part you haven’t spoken to yet?” Husband Dean asked.

Castiel chewed his lip before answering. “He’s the part that can’t forgive himself for what he did in Hell. Or as a demon. Or when he took on the Mark of Cain. He’s…very angry. And very strong.”

“A _demon_?” Husband Dean looked shocked. “I vote for meeting _not_ him. You said there are others?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Three—no, _two_ children, an almost-teenager, and one other adult.”

“Well, let’s go.”

“Road trip!” Lover Dean joked. “And when it’s time to deal with the demon part, I’m helping.”

“Dean, I don’t think that’s—”

“Strength in numbers, Cas,” Hunter Dean interrupted. “And I _am_ coming with you. I know how to fight demons. You can’t just spark this one out, right?”

“No, I can’t. And he’s not really a demon. He’s that part of the whole Dean. He just presents as a demon.”

“Well, let’s go meet the kids,” Husband Dean said enthusiastically, hand on the doorknob. “That came out wrong.”

“Or right,” Lover Dean said.

Hunter Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know you two,” he said, following them out the door.

 

* * *

 

The whirling gray mist had almost disappeared completely from the hallway, except for a dark shroud around one doorway.

“Danger zone,” Husband Dean joked as they passed it.

“Don’t joke about things like that,” Hunter Dean said. “He’d probably kill you.”

“If I’m dreaming all this, can I really die?” Husband Dean asked.

“Would it affect our body in the real world?” Lover Dean asked. “’Cause, you know, Cas…with yours…”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel replied.

“Why? What happened with your body?” Husband Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Castiel said.

“Nothing?” Lover Dean repeated. “Are you saying what we did was _nothing_?”

“Of course not, Dean.”

“Well, then what happened?” Husband Dean asked again.

“We had sex,” Lover Dean said. “Really amazing, awesome sex. And apparently when he orgasmed here, he came in his vessel too.”

“You…” Husband Dean stopped in the hallway. “You _slept_ with him?”

“I…” Castiel sighed. “Yes.”

“But we’re _married_. You had an affair with…another me?”

“In your alternate reality, you are married to a human version of me. But not to me in reality.”

“Had you already met me? Before this happened?”

“Yes.”

“So you cheated on me. You even said you stopped wearing your ring in solidarity with me. And then you go sleep with fake-me?”

“Hey, I’m not fake,” Lover Dean argued. “If anything, you’re more fake than I am.”

“None of you are fake,” Castiel broke in. “You are all parts of the whole Dean.” He sighed deeply. “I know you all feel like you are your own person, with your own history. But you are part of something—of some _one_ —bigger. I love all of you because you are all Dean. Now… Behind that door are four more Deans, and I love them as well.”

“What about the demon?” Husband Dean asked.

“I… On some level I love him too. I feel enormous compassion for him.”

“Even if he wants to kill you?” Lover Dean asked.

“Even so.” Castiel took the final steps to four-year-old Dean’s door and knocked.

“It’s Cas!” four-year-old Dean’s voice called from the other side. The door swung open widely and four-year-old Dean jumped up and down. “You came back again!”

“I will always come back to you, Dean.”

“More Deans!” nine-year-old Dean said, coming to the door. “You can join the Dean Club.”

“We have a club?” Hunter Dean said with disbelief.

“A Dean club!” nine-year-old Dean repeated. “And Cas is an honorary Dean.”

“An honary Dean,” four-year-old Dean echoed, nodding. “’Cause Cas is family too.”

 

 

Castiel watched all the Deans as introductions were made and stories swapped. There was a lot of thoughtful head-shaking, as if each one was trying to wrap their minds around the others’ perspectives and experiences. Four-year-old Dean was the first to be fully accepted by all the others, picked up and hugged and passed around.

Nine-year-old Dean was a little big to be picked up, but he garnered quite a few hugs and more than a few tears, shedding some of his own with joy on his face. It might have been too late for the whole Dean at nine years old to get the kind of guidance and support he so clearly needed and deserved, but it looked like he was finding it now among the adult parts. Even Hunter Dean softened when talking with him, tousling his hair and giving him a playful, light punch on his upper arm.

“You were right.”

Castiel turned away from where the adults and kids were talking to see Suicidal Dean standing next to him. “About what?”

“About everything. My whole world is about my failures. But no human being has _only_ failures. Babies are born innocent. Little kids don’t fail. I did a lot of shitty things, but I did them because I thought it was the only way to save someone else. I see that now. And maybe the worst thing I did was start to think that everyone else was worth more than me. That my life didn’t count if someone else’s could be saved.”

Castiel nodded. “It’s one thing to be generous in trying to save others. It’s another to throw yourself into danger or to neglect yourself because you think others deserve saving and you don’t.”

“I crossed that line somewhere, long ago. Dad was disappointed in me. Sam was disappointed in me. The only good thing I could do was save someone else.” He let out a long breath. “You were the first person to say I was worth saving.”

“I wasn’t the first, Dean. Your father believed you were worth saving. That’s why he traded his life for yours. And Sam has always looked up to you.”

Suicidal Dean chuckled. “You just said it after raining sparks down on my head. It was memorable.” He was quiet for several moments. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I heard there’s one part who’s not here. A demon?”

Castiel nodded. “Not exactly a demon, but yes, he presents as one. He’s taken on the memories of torturing other souls in Hell, of his time as a demon and while carrying the mark. Where you saw nothing but despair and all of your failures, he sees nothing but pain and power.”

Suicidal Dean nodded. “I know how to help him. I know his weakness.”


	17. Chapter 17

“This will only work if we’re unanimous,” Suicidal Dean explained to the other Deans in the room. “He’ll know if any of us are faking it, and then he’ll use that against us.”

“I thought you said he was all about power and pain,” Hunter Dean argued. “How is _this_ gonna help?”

“I think he and I are opposite sides of the same coin,” Suicidal Dean said. “I felt powerless. He feels powerful. But they both stem from the same self-hatred. You all gave me my power back.” He looked at the younger children. “You reminded me of who I am because you accepted me the way I am. Failures and all. He needs the same thing.”

“Embrace the demon?” Lover Dean said thoughtfully. “I suppose. I think it’s gonna be hard when we see him, though.”

 “Cas said he’s _not_ a demon,” four-year-old Dean broke in. “He’s a Dean. Stop calling him a demon.”

“Y’know, I’m not a fan of the younger ones being part of this,” Tween Dean added. “What if he scares them? Then we’re right back where we started. Or worse. I think maybe just those of us who can handle him should go.”

“Good thinking, bud,” Hunter Dean agreed.

“No,” Suicidal Dean argued. “It has to be all of us. If he even suspects that not all of us accept him, that’s going to strengthen his belief that the only way he can avoid pain—his or someone else’s—is to push everyone else away.”

“What if he’s scary?” nine-year-old Dean asked.

“I’ll be with you,” Tween Dean said immediately.

“So will I,” Hunter Dean added, echoed by everyone else in the room.

“And you, Cas?” Lover Dean asked. “Can you accept him? Even if he wants to kill you more than us?”

Castiel raised his eyebrow in amusement. “I seem to recall a certain someone trying very hard to kill me, or at least slow me down. Wardings, bullets…a knife to the heart.”

“Yeah,” Lover Dean said, looking at the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“I already accept him,” Castiel said. He hesitated to add the next part, but needed them to know. “I’m also growing weaker. It’s taken a lot of my grace to dream walk with you and I’m running low. In case I can’t stay, I know you can do this. You are the Dean I know and love.”

“Will…” Four-year-old Dean sniffled, a tear already rolling down his cheek. “Will I see you again?”

Castiel smiled, fighting his own tears. “Yes. I don’t know how exactly you’ll see me, but when you wake up in Dean’s body in the real world, you will see me. And I will see you. I’ll always know you’re there.” He looked around the group. “All of you. Every time I look at Dean, I will see each of you. Know that I love you.”

Hunter Dean closed his eyes for a moment before wiping his hand over his eyes. “All right. Let’s go love on a demon.”

“A Dean,” four-year-old Dean said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Let’s go love a Dean.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, they decided not to knock. While it might provoke a more aggressive response from Demon Dean, they all agreed that knocking would give him the opportunity to shut them out. Lover Dean verified that the door was locked, and although he still had the skeleton key for his own door with him, he urged Castiel to see if being their helper gave him unlocking privileges.

As Castiel put his hand on the knob, he felt the levers in the mortise lock move, retracting the bolt. Then at Hunter Dean’s count, he pushed it open.

The room was nothing like what Castiel expected. He’d thought maybe another replica of the bunker bedroom, or perhaps a cold, dark, empty room like Suicidal Dean’s. He was not expecting a replica of Dean’s rack in Hell. His wings flared at the sight, bringing up his own memories, how much it hurt to see such a brilliant soul broken down and twisted into a vehicle for endless misery.

Dean stood at the center, the Mark of Cain clearly on his inner right forearm, surrounded by deep slashes that didn’t bleed, as if he’d tried to cut it away. His eyes shone black, and a cruel smile distorted his beautiful face. In his hands he held the First Blade and a red-hot iron comb, bits of flesh still clinging to the sharp teeth. “Volunteers for my rack?” he asked, the look on his face daring them to come closer. “I can always use the practice.”

“No,” Castiel said, giving them all the signal to circle around Demon Dean.

“You, angel, you can be my first.” Demon Dean licked his lips in a gross parody of Lover Dean’s. “Your wings are already damaged. You won’t mind if I pull all the feathers out, peel off all the skin, and break all the bones, will you? Then I’ll cut them off before I start on the rest of your body.”

The graphic images reminded Castiel of the last time his wings _had_ been injured, and he forced himself not to pull them closer to himself.

“Hit a nerve?” Demon Dean taunted. “Thought so.” He looked around the circle surrounding him. “I know all your weak spots. That’s what I’m good at.” He pointed the First Blade at Suicidal Dean. “You’re so full of darkness, but you couldn’t even do this. You’re worthless.”

Suicidal Dean lifted his chin. “I love you, Dean.”

Demon Dean snorted and turned to Hunter Dean. “You think you can take me? You might be good at killing, but you live an empty life. Everyone leaves. No one loves you.”

Hunter Dean smirked and met Demon Dean’s gaze. “I love _you_ , Dean.”

“Yeah, right.” He looked around and stopped at Tween Dean. “You try so hard to be tough, but you’re a kid. A useless, whiny brat.”

Tween Dean cocked his head. “I love you, Dean.”

Demon Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at Lover Dean. “You’re such a slut. You gonna take it up the ass for him too? Love is a joke. It means nothing.”

Lover Dean glanced at Castiel, then back at Demon Dean and smiled. “I love you, Dean.”

Scoffing, Demon Dean turned on nine-year-old Dean. “Yeah, I heard your pathetic prayers. No one’s coming for you. No one ever will.”

Nine-year-old Dean’s chin quivered but he held eye contact. “Everyone here came for me. And we’re here for you. I love you, Dean.”

“ _Stop saying that!_ ” Demon Dean yelled. “Love only leads to pain and hopelessness! It’s _weak_! I’m _strong_!” He whirled on four-year-old Dean and snarled, “I wish you’d never been born.”

Four-year-old Dean pulled a black crayon out of his pocket. “I’m glad I was, ‘cause that means all the other Deans here got born. Including you. I love you, Dean. You can have my favorite crayon.” He stepped forward, within grabbing distance, and held it out.

There was an audible gasp in the room before Husband Dean stepped forward, easily within striking distance. “I love you, Dean.”

One by one, each of the other Deans stepped forward, echoing, “I love you, Dean.”

Demon Dean dropped the blade and comb, putting his hands over his ears and hunching over, shaking his head.

The other Deans kept inching closer, until four-year-old Dean put the crayon into Demon Dean’s hand. Demon Dean clasped it, still against the side of his head, then finally lowered his hands and stared at the crayon. He looked up, saw Castiel watching him, and the black faded from his eyes as a tear leaked out. At four-year-old Dean’s example, the other Deans all reached forward and embraced Demon Dean in a hug.

“I love you, Dean,” Castiel said softly, before the world went black.

 

* * *

 

When Castiel woke, lying down, he only knew that he was not on Dean’s bed in the bunker. He assumed his grace had become weak enough and could no longer sustain dream walking, but he appeared to still be in Dean’s landscape. He stood and recognized the outside of the house that had held all of the Deans. Maybe something had gone wrong and he’d been kicked out of the house. Worrying thoughts about what had happened to Dean spurred him on, and he ran to the house and wrenched open the door.

The foyer was empty. No Dean. He hurried upstairs. The hallway was clear of any gray mist, and all of the doors stood open. He went first to Demon Dean’s room, where he’d last seen everyone. It was empty, but instead of the rack and bloodstained floor, it held a queen-sized bed sitting atop a large, luxurious, white rug that covered most of the floor. The bedroom furniture was all whitewashed wood with blue accents. On the center of the thick, white, soft, faux-fur bedspread lay a single black crayon.

Castiel went to four-year-old Dean’s bedroom only to find a collection of drawings, some of himself with his wings spread, some of Baby, and some of himself with all of the Deans. A family portrait. In nine-year-old Dean’s room, the white, ceramic angel that had been in four-year-old Dean’s bedroom sat on the table with a drawing of Castiel and a young boy holding hands. Tween Dean’s room had an origami car, colored black, on the table with paper cutouts of a winged angel and an orange-haired young man beside it. The same sort of theme persisted throughout every bedroom: drawings, angels, family portraits.

After checking all the bedrooms, Castiel made his way to the office, the door opening to his touch. The desk was still there, including Castiel’s name plate. But there was also a stapler, a small cup of paper clips, and a tape dispenser. A vase of fresh-cut flowers sat on the desk, with a florist’s card leaning up against it. Castiel picked it up and read:

 _Thank you, Cas. For everything._  
_For giving me back myself._  
_I love you._  
_Dean_


	18. Chapter 18

With a deep sigh, Castiel let go of the thread that held him within Dean’s mind, falling back into his vessel. He woke again, this time laying where he expected on Dean’s bed. He immediately turned to where Dean slept—or had been sleeping. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.”

“How are you…?” Castiel wasn’t sure how to word the question.

“I’m good. Better. I sent Sam out for some food. Told him I wanted a food wait-time of at least an hour or two.”

“Oh.”

“You been in my head again, Cas.”

“I am sorry, Dean. It was the only way.”

Dean reached forward and ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair, the motion sending a shudder through Castiel’s body. “I’m not sorry. I’m glad. You got my card?”

Castiel felt his pocket before he realized it wouldn’t have made the transition to the physical world. “I did.”

“I meant it. Every word.”

Chancing a smile, Castiel replied, “I love you too, Dean. How much do you remember?”

Dean inhaled deeply and looked up at the ceiling before meeting Castiel’s eyes again. “All of it. What I said. What you said. Gotta say, I’m a little in awe. How you helped all the…parts. Brought everyone together.”

“I didn’t do the work, Dean. You did.”

“You helped, Cas. More than you know. I was doin’ some big-time repressing, I guess. Got a PhD in denial. In a way, Rowena’s spell was kind of a good thing. Y’know? I had to finally accept all these parts of me. I mean, we all got these parts, right? Just…not always so literal. Or separated.” His look turned somber. “Sam told me a little bit about his research, before you woke up. That people go through something like this for real and not from a spell? That’s just wrong, man. No one should hurt that much. And he said a lot of them have these helper parts, who might be angels?”

“It’s possible, yes. Not soldiers like me, but ones who are trained as guides and helpers.”

“I think you qualify as a guide and helper now, Cas.”

Castiel rolled a bit so he was on his side, facing Dean. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean scooted closer on the bed, but glanced between them briefly before moving the arm underneath him. “I’d like to kiss you now.”

“Oh. I thought…”

“I wasn’t interested? Part of me wanted us _married_ , Cas. Yeah, I’d say I’m interested.”

“Then I would like to kiss you too.”

Dean closed the distance between them and captured Castiel’s mouth in a kiss that promised much more to come. With insistent nibbles and a tongue that demanded entry, Dean wound up laying half on Castiel before he broke for air. “We need fewer clothes,” he said, breathing heavily. He climbed off the bed and held out his hand to pull Castiel up.

“Let me, this time?” Castiel said, putting his hands on Dean’s overshirt.

“Oh, you got it.”

Slowly, Castiel removed Dean’s clothes, intentionally dragging the fabric lightly over Dean’s skin as he peeled off each item, paying attention to Dean’s heartrate, respiration, and pupil width. Once he had Dean’s upper body bare, he ran his fingers down his chest, curving his index fingers just enough to catch Dean’s nipples as he passed over them. When Dean’s breath caught, Castiel pressed his hands harder into Dean’s chest, getting him used to firm touch. Then after several long moments, he pulled his hands away and flicked the tips of Dean’s nipples with his fingernails.

“God, Cas…”

“Just Cas,” Castiel replied with a final flick. He moved his hands down and began to unbuckle Dean’s belt, using more pressure against a larger area than was strictly necessary. Several times, his fingers brushed the hard bulge behind Dean’s zipper, causing Dean to buck his hips involuntarily. He pulled down Dean’s zipper slowly, following with his other hand, rubbing and massaging. Then with quick move, he jerked Dean’s jeans and boxer briefs down to his ankles, kneeling and pulling them off his socked feet, grateful that Sam had taken Dean’s boots off when Dean took the dream root.

He pulled Dean’s bare thighs toward him and kissed the tender skin of his inner thighs and where his thighs met his hips. He kissed and licked the area around Dean’s erection until Dean was trembling with the effort of holding still, then took all of Dean into his mouth in one movement. Dean swayed for a moment, then grabbed onto Castiel’s hair for balance, tightening his hold when Castiel began to use his tongue, trying to emulate what he remembered Dean doing to him.

Dean’s breathing became faster and he groaned a few times before managing to say, “Cas… I’m gonna…”

With one last, long pull with suction, Castiel pulled off of him and stood up. “Yes?”

“This…” Dean waved between their bodies. “This is not fair. You have far too many layers on.”

“You don’t think I should ravish you with all my clothes on?”

“Kinky. And maybe some other time. Right now, I want you naked and in my bed.”

Castiel pulled his trench coat off slowly, still paying attention to Dean’s autonomic nervous system. But instead of getting symptoms of arousal from Dean, he was picking up what seemed to be irritation.

“Naked. Bed. Now,” Dean growled, climbing onto the bed.

With a nod, Castiel used his grace to disrobe himself, leaving the clothes folded neatly on the green couch. He joined Dean on the bed, leaning down to nip at Dean’s collar bones and neck. “Do you want me on my back again?”

Dean shook his head. “No. You’ve, uh... You've seen everything in my head. I want to give you everything else.” Almost shyly, he spread his legs and lifted his own knees, presenting his most private parts to Castiel.

“Oh, Dean…”

“Lube’s in the nightstand. Same place as in my…other room.” Dean smirked.

“Do I need a condom?” Castiel asked.

“You got any STDs, Cas?”

“No. I am not at present capable of carrying any diseases, nor have I had coitus in years.”

“Don’t call it that either,” Dean said.

“I thought that was an improvement over anal intercourse.”

Dean winced. “We gotta get you versed in some slang. But later. No condom.”

Castiel found the bottle of lube, coated his fingers liberally, then used one hand to massage into Dean’s cleft while he used the other to gently massage his balls. He found Dean’s hole and massaged it firmly before pressing one finger in. It slid in easier than he expected, and, watching Dean for any signs of discomfort, he slid a second one in soon after. He pictured Dean’s anatomy from when he’d pieced him back together, and with near-certainty, twisted his hand slightly to the left, felt a round bulge, and swiped his finger firmly over it.

Dean’s hips bucked up and he shouted something incoherent, his breathing now coming in short gasps. His walls were relaxing more, and Castiel slowly added a third finger, watching as Dean started to squirm. “I’m ready, Cas,” he said. “Really.”

Taking his instruction from what he remembered of his time earlier with Dean, he lined himself up and pushed slowly in. Dean wriggled more and grunted in frustration, and Castiel thrust in until he bottomed out, the tightness and warmth nearly overwhelming and almost causing him to climax.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean said, beneath him. Dean’s gaze seemed unfocused, but he was also panting. “Let yourself go. Do what feels good. It’ll feel good for me too.”

Slowly, Castiel pulled almost all the way out, then snapped himself back in, and the sheer sensation of that had him pulling out and pushing in faster and harder. He almost lost his balance once, but used his wings in the etheric plane to keep himself from falling, and then found that flapping them a certain way gave him added thrust and changed the angle slightly so that Dean was moaning in pleasure on every stroke.

“So gorgeous, Cas,” Dean managed to say between groans.

Castiel knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, and, still balancing himself with his wings, he grasped Dean’s erection and stroked it in time with his thrusts. Moments later, Dean cried out and climaxed over his stomach and chest, his muscles clenching in waves around Castiel, who couldn’t stop that race toward the cliff’s edge. He felt himself falling, plummeting, until his own release and the hot, shuddering aftershocks. Loud pops sounded around the room and outside the door.

This time Sam didn’t interrupt. Breathing heavily, Castiel slid out, causing Dean to hiss at the sensation. He used his grace again to remove the fluids but left them both with the residual physical feelings.

He pulled back the covers and helped Dean underneath them, then covered himself up to his waist. “What was that noise?” he asked, once he remembered how to speak.

“I think you blew out every light in the bunker, Cas.”

“Oh. I’m so—”

“Do _not_ say you’re sorry,” Dean interrupted.

“Okay. Sorry.”

Dean snorted. “You came into my life in a shower of sparks and exploding lights. It’s only right you should…” he smirked, “come in my body the same way.”

“Your double entendres are getting worse.”

“I dunno. I think they’re getting better.” Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… Did Sammy ever get those crayons?”

“He did. I think he also bought out the store’s supply of Lucky Charms.” Castiel tiled his head in confusion. “Why?”

“Still wanna use ‘em,” Dean said with a half-smile.

“You want to color?”

“Yeah… I might have gotten in touch with some long-forgotten interests. Maybe even a healthy way to reduce stress.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Dean.”

“But there’s another reason too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Dean reached his hand up and trailed his fingers along Castiel’s flight feathers, the unexpected touch sending shivers of pleasure through Castiel’s entire being.

Castiel gasped. “You can see them?”

Dean nodded. “You have wings.” He stroked over the upper arch and then combed his fingers through the coverts. “They’re pretty.”


End file.
